


Sick, but Getting Better

by hannahhoppers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (but only if you want to), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Daddy!Killian, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I really don't want to trigger anyone, Mental Health problems, Modern AU, Mommy!Emma, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, anxious!emma, depressed!emma, emotional issues, fluff at the end, forced hospitilization, honestly this is a monstrosity, like a ton of angst, lots of feelings, please message me or comment if there's anything I need to add, please read it anyway, specifically anorexia, therapist!regina, this is basically all feelings, trigger warning, trigger warnings for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahhoppers/pseuds/hannahhoppers
Summary: "What a year."Emma Swan has depression and anxiety. Killian Jones is a recovering alcoholic. They've been together for three years, through the ups and downs and helping each other to get back to stability. This is a year-long excerpt from their story, illuminating the highs, the lows, and the quiet moments in between.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all.
> 
> I know I've been missing for a while (save for the little thing I put up the other night). That has, in part, been due to school and practice and moving- but also because I've been working on this monster for /forever/. 
> 
> My summary is absolute garbage, so hooray for you if you clicked on this anyway. Below are ~22,000 words of unadulterated pain and angst and feelings with a little bit of fluff to make it not hurt as bad. Yay...
> 
> This piece has been my baby for a while. I hope you enjoy it! And like I said in the tags- if there are any triggers in here that I didn't mention, PLEASE inform me. Stay safe, everyone.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own the show or the characters, so I'm playing with them. Adam and Eddy have such nice toys. Unbeta'd. Kudos and comments if you enjoy!

What a year.

  


She’d finally taken the plunge and gone to get help for her depression. After a few different tries, she found a therapist who she worked well with. Regina Mills, M.D., was an interesting woman. Sometimes, you just couldn’t understand why she even went into the field of psychology, but others, you realized it was her true calling. She wore sensible pantsuits and wrote in a consistent, calligraphic hand. Shortly after beginning her bi-weekly sessions, she met one Killian Jones.

  


Killian Jones was really… something. While she hid behind walls of sarcasm and one night stands, he protected himself with barricades of innuendo and black leather. They were the sort who’d have either clashed horrifically or loved in the deepest way possible— thank God for both of them that it was the latter. While she struggled with depression and anxiety, he dealt with addiction. The two of them always boosted each other up, providing support whenever their problems just got to be too much. As much as he was a shoulder for her to lean on, she was as well. 

  


He had held her hand one night, on the bathroom floor, while she held an amber bottle of antidepressants. Taking them, she thought, made it all feel so _real—_ she had an illness, she couldn’t solve this on her own— and it made her feel… weak. He squeezed her fingertips before gently taking the bottle from her and screwing open the cap. With a shake and a rattle, a little puddle of white pills poured into his hands. He selected one, dumped the rest back into their container, and re-capped it, pressing the capsule into her palm as they stood. 

  


“This doesn’t make you weak, Swan. It makes you strong. You’ve had the courage to admit you have a problem, now you’re taking steps toward fixing it. Not many people can do that.” Green eyes scanned blue before she popped the medicine into her mouth. He had smiled, kissed her forehead, and led her to bed.

  


The prescription had changed, of course it had, because not every therapist was the right one and not every drug worked right for her. When Mills prescribed her this one, though, it seemed to work perfectly. Or, as well as an antidepressant could work. It didn’t mute the discouragements yelling in her mind, but it turned the volume down low. It didn’t hand her a smile, but it unlocked the cabinet in the back of her brain where they had been kept. The only problem was, the hallucinations were intense.

  


Man-sized, golden lizards snaked across her walls and floors at all hours of the day. They spoke to her, trying to make her dive deep into the dark side of her psyche that she’d been fighting tooth and nail to get out of. When they touched her, icy shivers ran up and down her limbs. When they bit, it felt like a red-hot wire was being threaded through her bones. She knew they weren’t there. They were phantoms, figments. 

  


The first time she saw one, she was at the park with him on a Saturday afternoon, early fall sunlight steaming through the treetops and a chocolate ice cream cone dripping down her hand. A lizard slithered up by her feet. Her eyes tracked it, watching curiously as it crept around her in figure eights and circles. It whispered dark things to her, its voice sticky, before sinking its teeth into her foot. 

  


“Ah!” she cried. Her foot was on fire, sharp, shooting pains yanking through it so she could barely stand. It felt like the bones were all broken and the flesh was being torn off in strips. 

  


“Swan, you alright?” 

  


“No… it… bit me or something,” she choked out.

  


“Emma, there’s nothing there. Look at me.” She took her eyes off the reptile. “What do you see?”

  


“A lizard. It’s… you don’t see it too?” He shook his head. “It’s the size of a person, and it’s skin is all gold and it keeps talking to me… it bit me on the foot. You’re… you really can’t see it?”

  


“No, I can’t. It’s not there, love.”

  


“I’m… going crazy. I’m seeing talking lizards! Oh, God, I…”

  


“Shh, ’s alright, Emma.” 

  


Ragged breaths shook out of her and she crashed into him. His arms came up to wrap around her back as she melted into him and buried her face in the leather over his shoulder. She clung to him for dear life, as if holding on tighter could prevent the demons from slithering around her anymore. His hand smoothed up and down her back, nesting in her curls. After a few moments, she turned her head to the side to look for the lizard. When she didn’t find one, she huddled into him even more, because if it wasn’t there, it was probably never there in the first place. It wasn’t real; she had imagined it. 

  


He had taken them home a little while afterwards, set on making her dinner and making sure she was okay after what had just happened. After they had eaten, plates settled on the coffee table before them, she was snuggled into him on the couch. 

  


“About earlier, love…” he’d started hesitantly.

  


“What about it?”

  


“Do you think, maybe… what you saw might’ve been caused by your new medication?”

  


“What?”

  


“I’m not… Well, it’s just that… you weren’t having… hallucinations, with the old one, but you’ve switched, and now…” She didn’t respond for a few moments. “Swan?”

  


“You… you might be right, and… I get that you’re trying to look out for me… but this one really seems like it’s working, you know? I’m starting to feel like myself again. This past month, I’ve felt _happy_. Happier than I’ve been in a really long time. And I think that feeling this way, I— I think it’s worth imagining things, right?”

  


“I”m glad that… it seems to be working, but I’m worried about you. You were barely able to stand this afternoon. I just don’t want… I don’t want you to be hurting. And if you think it’s worth staying with this medication because it truly helps, then I’ll stand by you in that. I want you to be happy, and if that involves golden, man-sized, talking lizards, then so be it. But if not, you _can_ tell me.” She pressed a kiss to his lips.

  


“I love you. And I think I’m going to stick with it for now. It’s just a side effect, it’ll probably go away pretty soon.”

  


A few weeks later, she was in the kitchen, slicing cucumber to toss into the salad bowl on the counter in front of her, when three scaly monstrosities circled around her ankles. She ignored them, muttering _not real, they aren’t here_ while she picked up a tomato. They slithered up her cabinets, mounting the countertops and going after her arms and hands. One whispered “worthless” and that was when she snapped. She threw her knife down into it, and started yanking blade after blade from the wooden block by the stove. She stabbed more lizards, and began hurling the sharp instruments across the room when more emerged from the hallway. When she ran out of knives, she started tossing whisks, spatulas, forks, anything within reach that could scare off a threat. She was screaming and crying and all sorts of animalistic noises were probably coming out of her throat but she didn't care, because the lizards wouldn’t go away. She flung a pair of scissors towards the apartment’s front door just as Killian opened it; they nearly grazed his neck and he lifted an instinctive hand to block their path. 

  


“Calm down. There’s nothing here,” he murmured, approaching her slowly. “It’s just us. You and me.” He laid a hand across her shoulders and folded her into his arms.

  


“They’re inside my head. I can’t get them out.” Her eyes caught a glint in the corner of the room. “There’s one right there. They’re always… there.”

  


“No, no no no, they aren’t here. Not real.”

  


“There were hundreds. I killed them… they just kept coming…”

  


“Emma, we need to call Dr. Mills.” She didn’t move, didn’t speak. He pulled her from his embrace and tried to search her eyes but found them staring emptily. “Come on, love. Let’s go lie down, alright?” Dimly, she felt him guiding her towards their bedroom and she laid down on the bed. He perched on the side of it, warm, callused hand resting over her own, and pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket. Her head pounded, heartbeat bumping loudly around the edges of her skull, but through it she heard his end of the phone conversation.

  


“Hello, is this Dr. Regina Mills?… This is Killian Jones, I’m calling about Emma Swan… As you know, she recently switched antidepressants. This one seemed to be working fine, but recently she started having vivid hallucinations. Today I came home to find her highly distressed, she was throwing kitchen implements at man-sized, golden lizards that only she could see. She’s calmed down a bit, but she’s about catatonic at the moment. I just want to help her, but I don’t know what to do… Inpatient treatment?… Yes, but… If you’re sure that’s best… No, it doesn’t have to wait until morning unless it’s an inconvenience… Alright… Thank you, Dr. Mills.” He hung up the phone and set it gently on the nightstand. 

  


“Emma?” he asked quietly. “I just got off the phone with the psychiatrist. She thinks it’s best if you go to stay at a treatment facility for a little while, alright?” She didn’t respond, stared right through him. “I just want what’s best for you. You’re gonna be okay, love. Can you stand?” Nothing. “Alright. Okay, um… I’m gonna pick you up, is that alright? We’re just going to take a short walk downstairs, then I’ll call a cab to take us there.” He slid his arms under her slight frame and lifted her up. Her arms looped around his neck, red rimmed eyes shut tight and crammed into his shoulder. Maybe if she were closer to him, as close as she could possibly be, it would all go away.

  


She’d nearly hurt him. Dear god, she’d thrown a pair of kitchen shears and they’d nearly punctured his throat. What the hell was wrong with her? What had made her think she could ever sacrifice her sanity for this? What if her scissors hadn’t missed him? They could’ve torn right through his throat; she could’ve killed him. The very idea of not having him by her was enough to make her want to die, hell, the thought itself nearly did her in. So she did what Emma Swan does best; she ran. Instead of walking out of the apartment, though, she ran through the labyrinth of her tortured mind, monsters lurking in dark corners and those damned lizards chasing her through the twists and turns. His words drifted softly through her head, like the pleasant sound of ocean waves one couldn’t ever quite understand nor escape when near the water. The carried a worried note, and she vaguely felt guilty for that because she knew she was scaring him, but whatever he was saying was floating just out of reach, his meaning barely comprehensible. 

  


In the taxicab she dozed against him, the ride to the hospital lengthy. The adrenaline rush of her breakdown had died and sapped the energy from her entirely. She was faced with nightmares of her lizards going after him, of her scissors slicing deep into the side of his neck, of him lying on the ground, begging her to let him go and to be strong. She woke violently, lunging forward in her seat. The seatbelt nearly strangled her. 

  


“Shh, shh, it’s alright, love.” The arm right next to hers gripped her hand gently, the other coming around to pat her knee reassuringly. She snatched in a breath and dropped her head against his shoulder. She didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. 

  


When they arrived before the facility, he tugged her (somewhat) back into reality by the wrist, stirring her from her reverie just enough to stumble weakly from the car. She leaned against him, shuffling a bit while he walked them into the waiting room. Without him to keep her propped up, she’d surely have fallen while he collected a clipboard full of forms from the receptionist. He sat down at the right end of the loveseat and she curled up beside him, resting her head on his lap as she stared at the edge of the coffee table in front of her. His left hand stroked her hair while the right filled out paperwork. Dr. Mills walked through the glass doors when he was about three quarters of the way through. She nodded at the pair of them before striding to an elevator. 

  


Forms completed, they rose from their position and he handed the packets to the fair-haired woman behind the desk. 

  


“Second floor, Dr. Mills is the first door once you go right and turn the corner. Can’t miss it.”

  


“Thanks.” His arm went around her shoulders, fingers still entwined with hers. She took a few shaky steps and he matched her in pace. “Okay?” She thought she felt herself nod. They kept walking, slowly but steadily, towards the elevator. He reached out to press the button. 

  


Ding. A step inside. A button labeled with a big white 2. The ground pulling up beneath her. Ding again. Pink and white floors. Stumbling down the hall, held up only by the strength of his love for her and his very sturdy shoulders. 

  


_Knock, knock. “Who’s there?” No punchline, though. “Come in.”_

  


Her psychiatrist sat primly on the room’s big leather chair. She gestured with her head towards the matching sofa, and Killian helped her towards it. She laid down and vaguely registered him kneeling down beside her. Claws clicked against the tiles outside the office; she screwed her eyes shut. 

  


“Emma, can you tell me what’s been going on?” She couldn’t respond. 

  


“She hasn’t said a word in over two hours.” 

  


“Do you have any inkling…”

  


“We were out a few weeks ago, walking around at the park, when she stopped and yelled. She said that she’d been bitten on the foot by a golden lizard the size of a person, but there was no such creature. We went home shortly after; after dinner we had a short discussion, where I suggested the possibility that perhaps the hallucination was caused by her antidepressant. She agreed that it was plausible, but said that it seemed like it was serving its purpose better than any of the other medications she’d tried, and decided to keep taking it in the hopes that the side effect would wear off. Then I came home this evening to find her in a fit. She was crying hysterically, and throwing all sorts of utensils across the apartment, trying to fight off, in her words, hundreds, of these lizards. She stopped speaking after that, and barely moved for nearly an hour.” _He should’ve mentioned the scissors,_ she thought. The doctor nodded.

  


“Miss Swan, we’re going to hold you here while we wait for this medication to flush out of your system, alright? It’s clearly causing problems and continuing it could be dangerous.” Killian rested his hand over her arm, rubbing up and down and giving her a tight smile.

  


“You’re so strong, Emma. You’ll get past these demons, I know it.”

  


“You’ll be taken to a dormitory which you’ll be staying in for the next several days. Since the drug you’ve been using needs about 5 days to filter out of the body, you’ll stay until it’s been flushed out, and perhaps a day or two afterwards for observation.” Completely numb, she turned her head a little bit towards Killian. 

  


“Come on, love. Let’s sail away.” With his help, she stood from the chaise and walked from the room. Standing by the door was a curly-haired man in a white uniform. 

  


“Right this way,” he said in an accent that matched her boyfriend’s. She followed him up a staircase, tired eyes fixed numbly on the blonde streaking through his hair. Killian’s warm hand was on the small of her back, anchoring her to the real world. The man opened a door to reveal a metal-framed bed, a small window, and a bedside table topped with a lamp. In the corner there was a small chair, and a short chest of drawers lined the opposite wall. “Meals are served from 8 to 9, 11 to 12, and 5 to 6. A nurse will knock on the door to wake you up at 7:30. Curfew is at 9 PM. You’ll start with one session each day with your psychiatrist, and will meet with her with more or less frequency depending on the path your recovery appears to take. Visiting hours are from 5:30 to 8:30 on weekdays, and 2:30 to 8:30 on weekends. There are telephones in the quiet recreation room which all patients have access to. If you have any questions, concerns, etcetera, feel free to talk to any of the doctors or nurses.” With that, he turned and went back down the hall. 

  


Killian walked with her into her room. The bed she sank onto wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but wasn’t as nice as the one they shared at home. She laid down and he arranged the covers over top of her. 

  


“I’ll be right here until you fall asleep, alright?” A heavy nod. “And I’ll be here for every minute of the visiting hours.” His hand stroked her hair gently. “You can call me any time. Day or night, doesn’t matter.”

  


“Killian…”

  


“What is it, darling?”

  


“Promise you’ll be okay… while I’m gone?”

  


“Shh… I’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be okay, love. I promise. You just focus on getting better, aye?” He leaned forward and kissed her temple sweetly. “Go to sleep.” 

  


“Okay. Goodnight.”

  


“Goodnight, my Swan.” She let her tired eyelids drop and faded into the world of her mind.

  


She woke to a hard pounding on her door. The window was in the wrong spot, the wall was too close to her head, where was Killian? The evening prior came back in bits and pieces: him on the phone sounding worried, lying on his lap while he filled out forms, throwing whisks across their apartment, falling asleep to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hand on her face. She sat up and hugged her pillow to her chest. A groan escaped her throat; how could she have been so stupid as to let things escalate to here? Rubbing her eyes with her fists, she slung her legs over the edge of the bed. She lumbered down the stairs, two flights to the ground floor. Voices came through a pair of wooden doors and she followed them. 

  


Inside, a cluster of people sat on couches, chatting through the morning news. A brown-haired woman in duckling yellow scrubs, a handsome man who scowled even as his companion grinned at him. A fierce looking brunette was folded into the corner of a small sofa, and another woman with red streaks through her hair sat a little too close to her to indicate “just friends.” A pale, blonde woman sat comfortably on the other end, with a white blanket draped around her shoulders like a cape. She looked up and smiled gently when Emma creeped into the room. 

  


“Hello. I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new?” Caught off guard, she nodded. The woman in yellow stopped in the middle of her sentence and turned. 

  


“How exciting! Come on over!” She took a few tentative steps into the room. “We don’t bite, I promise. I’m Belle,” she said, extending a hand. Emma took it and walked around the couch to sit beside her. 

  


“I’m Emma.”

  


“Nice to meet you, Emma. This is Jefferson. He’s here because he has memories in his head of a differentworld. Ingrid’s the blonde, she’s in for PTSD from a car crash that took her sister. Dorothy hit her head when a twister picked up her house a few years back and hasn’t been herself since. Ruby’s prone to memory blackouts. I’m an amnesiac. What about you?” She stated their afflictions with no judgement, as impartial as if she were stating their favorite colors. 

  


“Um… my antidepressant made me hallucinate. I had a nervous breakdown and nearly killed my partner, and from there I was completely catatonic for a few hours.” 

  


“Oh, sweetie,” Ingrid said; Belle’s dainty hand reached for hers. Dorothy and Ruby smiled at her. Jefferson even gave her a sympathetic look. Before anybody could say anything further, a bell rang. “That’s breakfast.” Everyone scrambled up from their seats and ran from the room— shocked, she hung back for a moment before following. When she found what appeared to be the cafeteria, a line stretched out and along the hallway. She joined the back of it. 

  


By the time she’d reached the front of the line, plastic tray clutched in her fingers, she felt remarkably like the new girl in high school (an experience she’d sworn she’d never have again after she tossed her maroon cap in the air). After a few moments of scanning the room nervously, she spotted a flash of red. Her eyes caught again what turned out to be the streaks in Ruby’s hair. Slowly, she started towards her and the rest of the group. 

  


“Oh, Emma, come sit down!” Ingrid called when she noticed her. Emma nodded and picked up her pace, grateful that at least here she didn’t have to sit by herself. She sank down beside Jefferson and took a bite of her eggs. Everybody chatted around her, taking great lengths to include her in the conversation. These people could be her friends, for the week at least. They finished their breakfast and everybody dispersed; Ingrid and Dorothy to their respective therapy sessions, Belle to the library, Ruby to the garden, and Jefferson who knows where. Emma went back to the big room she’d found everyone in earlier. About 20 minutes after she started watching whatever comedy was on TV, Dr. Mills stalked into the room. 

  


“Miss Swan, if you’ll come with me?” She nodded and followed the dark-haired woman up to the office she’d been in the night prior. The two settled into their respective seats and the psychiatrist silently evaluated her patient for a few moments. “Is there anything in particular you wanted to start with?”

  


“Not really.”

  


“Alright. Then let’s talk for a little bit.”

  


“About what?”

  


“How about your most recent medication.”

  


“Right. That.”

  


“Miss Swan, we’ve had a few sessions since you started taking it, why didn’t you mention the effect it was having on you?”

  


“It just seemed like another side effect. Whenever I start a new drug I get different ones, and they go away in a few weeks. I figured it was no big deal.”

  


“Emma, I understand why you did what you did, but I’m here to help you get better. And if something I give you to assist with that hurts you in other ways, I need you to tell me. Hallucinations aren’t a normal side effect with this drug.”

  


“Oh.”

  


“Your systems responded extremely negatively, and you could have required hospitalization if you didn’t stop taking it when you did. I think it’s best to hold off on any new prescriptions for a while after this one makes its way out of you.”

  


“But—”

  


“I’d say a few weeks with no medication is the safest option for you at the moment. To let your body… detox, I suppose. And perhaps something more for your anxiety than your depression.”

  


“Why?”

  


“Miss Swan, it is my professional opinion that your anxiety was what kept you from telling me about the hallucinations.”

  


“No, it was—” she interrupted.

  


“If I may finish?” the therapist asked sternly. “You were afraid that if you told me what was happening, I’d take you off of this drug, which you said was helping immensely with your depression. You were afraid that you’d go back to feeling… empty, I believe you described it once. Terrified you’d lose your will to live. But you see, that’s a good thing. It means that you’re fighting it, you want to get better. Your depression is losing its hold on you. Your anxiety has still got a tight grip, worryingly tight, might I add, but you are improving.”

  


“Oh.” They talked for another hour or so, about this and that, picked up what they had been discussing during her previous session. 

  


“Alright. I think that’s everything for today. I’ll see you on Thursday, same time.”

  


“Got it. Thanks, Dr. Mills.”

  


“No problem. It’s nearly lunch, you’ll want to get downstairs pretty soon.” Emma nodded and left the room, feeling better than she had that morning. She found Belle, Ruby, and Jefferson organizing shelves in the library. 

  


“Can I help?” she asked.

  


“Oh, sure! This has kind of been my pet project since I got here. We’re just cataloguing them and reshelving at this point. How’s your handwriting?”

  


“Okay, I guess?”

  


“Oh, fantastic. You can take over card duty from Jefferson, then. Thank goodness.”

  


“Hey!” the man laughed.

  


“Oh, face it, Jeff. Your penmanship is atrocious.” And so it went, until the lunch bell rang and for several hours after. They joked and wrote and tossed cushions at each other. She scarfed down her dinner and left the table as quickly as she could, ready for 5:30 to roll around and for Killian to arrive. And arrive he did, right on schedule. 

  


When he spotted her in the hallway, his face stretched out into a grin; his arm went up and over her shoulder, the other rested on her hip. She squeezed around him and buried her face in his neck. His hand rubbed down her back slowly and he pressed her against him for a moment before they let go. Her hand trailed down to rest on his chest. 

  


“Hello, love.”

  


“Hi.”

  


“How are you holding up?”

  


“I’m good. It’s good.”

  


“I’m glad to hear it.” She hummed. “I brought you something.”

  


“And what’s that?” He gestured to the ground, where a small green duffel sat. 

  


“Clothes, toiletries, the like. And your blanket is tucked into the bottom. I didn’t know if you’d want it here, but I figured this is all… different, and hard, and you might have wanted something to—” She cut him off with a sweet, chaste kiss.

  


“Thank you.” She picked up the bag and led him by the hand to the quiet recreation room, where they settled onto a sofa in the corner. “How was your day?”

  


“Average at best.” She giggled. “Gold was a pompous ass, but then that’s fairly standard. Ashley, the new secretary I told you about? Turns out she’s the office gossip. And _apparently_ Ms. Goodwin has been having an affair with a married man.”

  


“No way! I met her at the Christmas party last year. She’s way too sweet to be the other woman.”

  


“Ah, but it is so! She and Mr. Dallas have been an item for quite some time, now.”

  


“He’s the blonde guy right above you, right?”

  


“Aye.”

  


“I guess I can see them together. He and his wife never really seemed right for each other to me.”

  


“How long have you been harboring secret opinions on the love lives of my coworkers?” he chuckled.

  


“Since about two minutes ago.” She smiled, he laughed heartily. 

  


“You, Emma Swan, are the most wonderful, ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

  


“Aww. You’re the sweetest.”

  


“I love you.”

  


“I love you too.” Her head pillowed right above his heart for a while as they talked— she loved the feel of his laugh shaking the whole ribcage and the low timbre of his voice vibrating his chest cavity. As eight thirty crept closer, they sighed in harmony. 

  


“Visiting hours are ending soon.”

  


“I know. I don’t want you to go.”

  


“I don’t want to either, love, but rules are rules.”

  


“Do you wanna just sneak me out of here? We can go home tonight?”

  


“As much as I missed waking up to you this morning, you have to stay here.” She pouted. “I know, love. But it’s for the best.”

  


“I know. It’s just… hard.”

  


“Aye, love. It is.”

  


“Kiss me goodnight?”

  


“I’ll kiss you goodnight,” he said, dropping his lips to her forehead, “and good morning,” he added, kissing her nose. “I’ll kiss you once for if the toast is burnt,” he murmured, kissing her left cheek, “and for if the bacon is crispier than you like it,” as he kissed her right. “A kiss for if you’re bored,” against her jawline, “and for if these new friends of yours aren’t quite able to explain an old joke,” against her earlobe. “For if you scrape your knee, or get a headache,” against the crown of her head, “and one more just because I love you,” he concluded, finally kissing her lips. 

  


“I love you too.” They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before they reluctantly pulled themselves up from the sofa. She walked with him to the door, duffel swinging from her left hand. Before he turned to exit through glass doors, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

  


“I’ll see you tomorrow, aye? Five thirty sharp.”

  


“Okay.” They embraced once more, quickly, and he turned to leave. Emma took the elevator up to the dormitory level. Tiredly, she brushed her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair. Killian had packed her favorite grey and white plaid pajamas. Smiling, she pulled them on in her room before flicking off the light. Hugging her pillow to her chest in the dark, she let herself fall asleep. 

  


The next day seemed to drag on forever, meals and books and chit-chat. Her head pounded the whole way through, which resulted in Killian tucking her in upstairs before leaving a bit early. Thursday followed a similar route; headaches, fatigue. She shelved books and watched a movie with Dorothy, and barely tasted the dry french fries served with lunch. 

  


“Emma, are you feeling alright?” Ingrid asked her while they played checkers in the rec room. 

  


“Not really. Dr. Mills said it was probably because I’m withdrawing from the drugs I was on. Normally you’re not supposed to quit cold turkey like that but it would’ve been dangerous for me to keep taking it any longer.”

  


“I see. Why don’t you lie down for a bit, see if that helps?” She nodded and moved to an empty couch. Ingrid covered her with a blanket and felt her forehead. “Oh, honey, you’re burning up.”

  


“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Ingrid.”

  


She woke in time for dinner. Killian fussed over her while he visited, despite her assurances that she was fine. He spoke quietly, mindful of her headache. Before he left, she asked,

  


“Do you think you could bring me one of your shirts?”

  


“Pardon?”

  


“A shirt. That you’ve worn recently. It’ll smell like you and make going to sleep easier.”

  


“I’ll make sure to bring one tomorrow.”

  


“Thanks.”

  


“Goodnight, my love.”

  


“Goodnight.” She retired soon after and fell asleep quickly, despite the nap she’d taken earlier. 

  


In the middle of the night, she thrashed awake. A nightmare melted away, leaving only her heaving breaths and a silver sliver of moonlight peeking through the window-shade. She crept out of her bed and pulled the knit blanket out of the bottom of the duffel and clutched it against her cheek. Lying in bed, she stroked the soft white wool until the panic subsided. She let her fingers loop and swirl over the embroidered purple letters of her name while she assured herself that her dream wasn’t real (It was Killian, lying, dying, in a flower field with scissors protruding from a long cut on his neck, while a cluster of golden-scaled reptiles munched on his extremities). She slept restlessly, but dreamlessly, after that. 

  


Friday crawled by, as did Saturday. On Sunday Dr. Mills cleared her to leave the hospital. When she told her friends, they threw their arms around her and cheered; one of them had recovered enough to go. Even Jefferson grinned for her. That morning, Killian picked her up with balloons tied to the car.Neither stopped smiling on the drive back to the apartment. They picked up sandwiches on the way home and ate them happily at the kitchen counter. The story Emma had been telling was cut off when she opened the garbage can lid, scrunched up wrapper in hand, and saw an empty bottle labelled “Bacardi.”

  


“Killian?”

  


“Oh, Gods, I—”

  


“Please tell me you didn’t.” A pained look washed over his features.

  


“Swan…” She walked back to him and linked their fingers together, waiting patiently for him to find his words. “When you were gone, I was so worried about you I could barely function. And all that leftover panic, from when you first started seeing things and from last Monday… it settled like a weight on my chest. I… returned to my old ways, in hopes of quelling those feelings… I’m sorry I let you down.” Shame filled his voice and he looked so utterly like a kicked puppy that she settled her hand over his cheek and murmured,

  


“No, no, no. You didn’t let me down, Killian. I could never be disappointed in you for this.”

  


“What?”

  


“You didn’t let me down. You relapsed, it’s normal. I know what it feels like.”

  


“What do you mean?”

  


“Depression’s kind of like an addiction. I’ve relapsed into that darkness more than a few times. I understand why you turned back to it.”

  


“You do?”

  


“Yeah. And now we need to focus on getting you through it and back to sobriety.” She pulled him into a tight hug. His nose dug into her curls and she scraped her fingernails lightly up and down his back. 

  


“You never cease to amaze me, do you know that?” he smiled lightly when they pulled away. 

  


“Mmm. You’re sweet. First things first— any alcohol in this apartment needs to go. We’ll set it on fire or something.”

  


“Maybe no fire.”

  


“Right. But we do need to get it out of here.”

  


“I downed most of it. The rest is in the fridge.”

  


“Do you want me to throw it out or should you?”

  


“I ought to. Symbolic, you know? Throwing it away, moving past the bottle.”

  


“Aye aye, captain.” He went to the fridge and pulled out the three remaining containers of drink. A nearly empty flask of rum, a glass bottle of whiskey, and a carafe of cheap merlot. He proceeded to drop the three into the garbage, the clinks and sloshes bringing a smile to both of their faces. “You’ll get through this, I know it.”

  


“Aye?”

  


“Yeah.” They spent that day together, at the ice cream parlor where they’d first met and the duck pond they’d visited on their first date. 

  


The next day she went back to work, as did he. She visited him during his lunch break with a paper sack from the best diner in town. Everything, just for a moment, seemed normal. 

  


Then Tuesday came.

  


On Tuesday, she rustled awake to find him missing. Her eyes shot to the light emerging from the bathroom. When she got out of bed and opened the door, she saw Killian bent over the toilet, unfurling his stomach contents into the water below. She tapped her knuckles against the wood lightly to alert him to her presence before she walked over to him. 

  


“Withdrawal?” He nodded before coughing into the porcelain once again. “Here, sit back.” He did as she instructed while she flushed the toilet. While he leaned over it again, she pulled a washcloth from under the sink and soaked it. 

  


“What’s that for?”

  


“Suck the water from it. It’ll keep you from getting dehydrated, but you won’t be taking in so much that you’ll vomit it back up again.” A faint smile took his lips.

  


“Thanks, love.”

  


“Anytime.” She reached down to feel his forehead with the back of her hand. “No fever, so that’s good.”

  


“Are you sure your internal thermometer isn’t off, lass? I certainly feel feverish.”

  


“No fever. It’s more like a really bad hangover, I’d say.” He groaned and dropped his forehead to the edge of the seat. “If you want, I can go get a bucket for you so you don’t have to hang out in the bathroom while you lose your guts.”

  


“That’d be grand.”

  


“Be back in a flash.” She left the bathroom and returned a few minutes later with a large plastic tub and a small dish of crackers. “Any better?”

  


“Not much.”

  


“You’ll get there.”

  


“Hmm. You’ve become quite the optimist, Swan.” She smiled at him and extended a hand. With heavy steps, he got back into bed. She set the crackers on his nightstand and the bucket on the floor beside it. Once he was settled under the covers, she grabbed one more washcloth from the bathroom and dampened it. In the bedroom again, she sponged his forehead, cheeks, and nose with it as he slept. 

  


She felt bad that he was in pain. It was her fault, after all. If she’d just told her therapist what was wrong, she wouldn’t have had a breakdown. She wouldn’t have worried him, she wouldn’t have been gone for a week, leaving him alone with nothing but anxiety and rum. He wouldn’t have turned back to drinking, and he wouldn’t be in withdrawal. Wouldn’t have broken his sobriety streak, wouldn’t be sleeping restlessly with a bucket on the ground beside him. She carded her fingers through his sweaty bangs for a little while before rolling over and going back to sleep.

  


When their alarms went off, she practically had to strap him to the bed to keep him from going to work. 

  


“Killian, you were up at three AM tossing cookies. You don’t need to go in today.”

  


“But Swan—”

  


“Nope. I’ll wake up old Mr. Marco Booth from across the hall to have him barricade the two of us in here with a chair under the doorknob if I have to.”

  


“Alright, I relent.”

  


“Good. You can go back to sleep if you’d like, no reason to be up at five thirty if you aren’t feeling well and don’t have anywhere to be.”

  


“On one condition— you have to rest as well.”

  


“Why’s that?”

  


“Because I know you aren’t going in today, and I won’t have you sitting around here worriedly like an unoccupied nursemaid.”

  


“Deal.” She slipped back under the covers with him and let herself fall asleep.

  


When they woke, sometime after the sun did, she felt his forehead again. 

  


“Still no fever. Feeling okay?”

  


“Not as ill, but my hands are shaking. And my brain feels all fuzzy.”

  


“That’s normal. It means you’re getting better.”

  


“Been reading up on my condition, then?”

  


“Is that surprising? I bet you know all about mine.”

  


“Aye, I suppose that’s true.”

  


“Okay. You stay here, I’m going to go grab my laptop. I have a story that’s due to my editor next week and I only have an outline.”

  


“Sorry, love.”

  


“What do you mean?”

  


“For keeping you from your work.”

  


“You are much more important than any corporate scandal.” He hummed skeptically. “I love you.” She kissed his forehead. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  


And that was how they spent the day. She worked on her articles while he drifted in and out of sleep. They talked through it when the depressive episodes hit him. (“Bloody hell, Swan. I just feel… numb, and apathetic… and this is what they call mild. Mine is punishment for hitting the bottle. Yours is just…” “Yeah.”) The next day he felt well enough to work from home, but she made him hold off another day before returning to the office. And for a few weeks, everything felt right. Normal. Practically boring, even. 

  


Of course, it didn’t last. After a month had passed since her stint at the hospital, Mills put her on a new medication. 

  


“Escitalopram didn’t work, let’s try Fluoxetine.”

  


“Brand name?”

  


“Prozac.” 

  


“Okay. Thanks, Dr. Mills.”

  


“Just doing my job, Miss Swan. I hope this one works.”

  


“Me, too.” 

  


She took her green and white pills without fail each morning. The first Wednesday, though, she slept through her alarm. When her eyelids creaked open, she caught the red letters on the clock and yelled,

  


“Dammit! I’m gonna be late! Killian, get up, it’s 8:30!” He groaned and rolled out of bed. They both rocketed around the apartment for the half hour before they had to be at their respective workplaces. She forgot her medication. 

  


When she realized, she was at the end of a meeting. She excused herself as quickly as she was able, heart pounding loudly in her ears and skull. In her office, she grappled for her phone. Speed dial. 1. Calling Killian Jones. 

  


“Swan?”

  


“Help,” she gasped. “I… forgot… panicking.”

  


“Swan, what’s wrong? You’re worrying me.”

  


“Medication. Can’t breathe…” She gasped and clutched at her chest. He made a little sound of understanding.

  


“Emma, listen to me. Focus on my voice, aye? Deep breaths. Breathe in, okay? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Breathe it out for me, can you do that? Breathe out. In, out. I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright? Just keep listening to my voice,” he said calmly. 

  


“O— okay.” She was panting, it felt as if her chest were trapped in an iron band. 

  


“In, out. In, out.”

  


“Ca-can’t. I— I c-can’t.”

  


“I want you to look around. Okay? Look around the room for me. Tell me five things you can see.”

  


“I— I…” Heavy breaths. In and out, a million times a minute. 

  


“Five things you see. Is there a plant in the room?”

  


“N-no. It’s all… fuzzy.” Heartbeat. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  


“That’s alright. You’re okay. Is there a computer?”

  


“Yeah—”

  


“Okay. There’s a computer. That’s one thing, can you see four other things?”

  


“I— I… see…” Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  


“That’s it. Take a big, deep breath. That’s a good girl.”

  


“There’s a… a pen…”

  


“Good. That’s good, Swan. Breathe in, breathe out. What else is there?”

  


“I don’t… I— I can’t…”

  


“You’re okay. Keep going. Can you see your shoes? What type of shoes do you see on your feet?” Big breath. Let it out. Heartbeat crashing louder and louder, get the air, breath, breath, breath. “Emma, tell me about your shoes.”

  


“They… they’re,” Room is spinning. 

  


“Just focus on my voice, love. You’re alright, I’ll be there soon. What type of shoes are they?”

  


“B— boots.”

  


“Yeah? Breathe in, hold, breathe out.”

  


“My chest… hurts.”

  


“I know, love. I know. Are they black boots or brown boots?”

  


“B-b— black.” Gasp. 

  


“Black boots? Good. That’s good. I’ll be at your office in two minutes, Swan. Can you hold on for two more minutes?”

  


“I don’t… think… I can…” Sharp breaths. Pounding heart. Thud, thud.

  


“What else do you see? That’s three things, can you tell me two more?”

  


“A… a cof- coffee cup?”

  


“Yeah? Tell me one more thing. Do you see one more thing?” Her stomach rolled. 

  


“My… my chair… in my… my office.”

  


“Good. That’s good, Swan. Take a deep breath. Are you okay?”

  


“No… no, I’m… not okay… think… I’m d-dying.”

  


“No, no, you aren’t dying. One more minute, love. Just one more minute.”

  


“Don’t… feel… well…”

  


“You’re safe, you’re safe. Don’t focus on it, okay? Focus on me. Listen to my voice. Can you hear me?”

  


“Yeah.” Bang, bang, heartbeats pounding in time with the blackness coating her vision. “C-can’t… see… it’s dark…”

  


“Stay awake for me, alright? I’m parking the car. Deep breaths, okay?”

  


“I— I… can’t…”

  


“Yes, you can. You’re okay. I’m walking through the doors of your building. I’ll be there in just a moment, Emma.”

  


“Hurry…”

  


“I know. I am. Focus on my voice, aye? Tell me something.”

  


“Like… what?”

  


“Tell me what color the walls are in your cubicle.”

  


“They’re… they’re grey… c-can’t… breathe…”

  


“Grey walls? I’m pressing the elevator button. Not long now, love. Take a deep breath.”

  


“My… h-heart.” Squeezing in her chest. Thud, thud, weak in some metal grip. Lungs being crushed with it. 

  


“Your heart is okay. It’s just chemicals, you know that? Chemicals in your brain. Take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?” She held her breath and let it out again. Air, more air, need it now.

  


“Passing the third floor. Listen to my voice. Take a deep breath.”

  


“C-can’t… I’m… dying…”

  


“No, you aren’t. You aren’t dying. I’m on your floor. I’m going to your cubicle, alright?”

  


“Help… I… hurts…” 

  


“I’m right here, right here, it’s okay. You’re alright, lass.” The voice was more human, not coming out of any telephone. “I’m going to touch your arm, is that okay?” She nodded frantically, hand still pressing over her heart. His hand settled over her bicep. 

  


“C-can’t… breathe…”

  


“No, no, it’s okay. You’re alright.” He pulled her hands into his own and settled them on her lap. “I’m going to count to five, okay? Breathe in while I count. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5.” She did as she was told, even though her lungs said not to. “Now hold for three. 1… 2… 3. Breathe out. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5.”

  


“Can’t… see…”

  


“Is the breathing helping?” She bobbed her head quickly. “In, okay? 1… 2… 3… 4… 5. Hold, okay? 1… 2… 3. Let it out, nice and easy, 1… 2… 3… 4… 5.” They went through it several times, and her vision started to clear. She stopped feeling disconnected with her own limbs. Her heart slowed and her breaths came naturally. “Better?”

  


“Yeah.”

  


“Is it over?”

  


“I think so.” They began to stand.

  


“Any ideas as to the cause of that, Swan?”

  


“I forgot to take my medicine this morning. I was so afraid the anxiety would take over that it did.”

  


“What do you think we ought to do to keep that from happening if you forget your medication again, then?”

  


“Keep some in my purse, I guess. Or my desk drawer.”

  


“Let’s remember to do that tonight, then. Are you alright?”

  


“I think so. Thanks for coming down.”

  


“Don’t mention it. My boss understands. His little sister Hope has anxiety, too.”

  


“Remind me to send Mr. Dallas a thank you card.”

  


“Will do. I should probably get back to work. You’ll be okay until you get home?”

  


“I think so. I’ll see you after work?”

  


“Aye. And if anything happens, I’m only a call away.”

  


“Thanks. I love you.”

  


“I love you, too. G’bye.” He kissed her cheek and exited. 

  


The rest of the workday passed without incident. She drove herself home and ate dinner with him on the couch, watched a movie, got ready for bed. Normal Wednesday night things. 

  


Sleep just didn’t come. She tossed and turned as quietly as she could for a little while before giving it up as a lost cause and sliding from the bed. In the closet were knitting needles and spools of brown yarn— a half-abandoned blanket she’d set out to make months ago. After pulling the supplies from the shelves, she settled on the couch to add to it. The short arm of the clock hanging from the wall above her made its way around 8 times before she moved from the sofa. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Silent sunrise at 6 AM. She pulled white powders from the pantry, milk and eggs from the fridge, and set to making pancakes at 7. Killian emerged from their room, yawning, at 7:15. 

  


“Mmm. Morning.” He kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her middle, resting his head on her shoulder. 

  


“Good morning.”

  


“How long have you been up?” he mumbled. “Your side of the bed was cold.”

  


“I never went to sleep.”

  


“Everything okay?”

  


“What? Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just a side effect. Mills said it was a normal one, not to worry about it. She just wanted me to tell her, this time.”

  


“And you’ll be alright for driving and work?”

  


“Oh, definitely. I may be best friends with the coffee maker all day, but I’ll be safe and everything.”

  


“You promise?”

  


“Yeah. I promise.”

  


“Good. Now let’s eat, those pancakes you’ve been making smell absolutely delectable.” She hummed and handed him a plate; his happy groan when the food hit his tongue made her grin. After breakfast, they readied themselves in tandem. 

  


“Who’s driving today?”

  


“I don’t mind.” She dropped him off at the front of his glass-and-metal skyscraper before arriving at her own office three minutes later. 

  


It was an average day, if a little caffeine-heavy. She picked Killian up and they stopped in at their favorite little retro diner for dinner. Once they got home, they slid off their shoes, flopped onto the couch, and pulled up Netflix. She fell asleep against his shoulder before a quarter of the movie had passed. 

  


A week passed by that way. In her memory, they blurred into a constant stream of knitting, cooking, coffee-drinking and napping through the evening. At the end of her session with Dr. Mills, she brought up the insomnia. 

  


“Like I said when I prescribed it, it’s likely just a side effect. You haven’t lost coordination, had a fever, blurred vision, swelling, or rashes?”

  


“No, none of that.”

  


“Alright. You’re probably okay. If it doesn’t let up by next week I want you to call, we’ll determine what to do from there. Anything else you wanted to discuss?”

  


“I did have a panic attack last week. I forgot to take my pill that morning and got so afraid my anxiety would take over that it did.”

  


“Noted.”

  


“I’ve started keeping a little plastic container of them in my desk drawer at work just in case it happens again.”

  


“Alright. That sounds like a safe solution. Just make sure that it’s labelled and not easily accessible to others.”

  


“Okay. Thanks.”

  


“No problem. See you in two weeks.”

  


“See you.” She picked up her bag and went home. 

  


The insomnia decided to hang around for a while longer. Dr. Mills referred her to a sleep specialist, one Elliot Merlin. He prescribed her a new drug. 

  


“Ambien, or zolpidem tartrate. Side effects include memory issues and hallucinations, but these would both be mild. If you deal with dizziness, drowsiness, difficulty concentrating, and or confusion due to your antidepressant, these may be increased. Other than that, you’re good to go.” She nodded slowly. Hallucinations?

  


“Thanks, Dr. M.”

  


“No problem. See you around, Emma.”

  


“You, too.” She stood from the chair and left his office, hailing a cab as soon as she was out the door. 

  


That evening she stared at her prescription bottles for a long time. Taking a gulp of water, she downed the Prozac. She dropped the Ambien down the toilet and flushed. No way was she going to risk having hallucinations, ever again. She didn’t sleep that night, but did remain in bed. Killian didn’t have to know she wasn’t taking her medication, right? It wasn’t a big deal. The red numbers on the alarm clock got a lot of attention that night, as did his growing-out bangs and the abnormally dark stain on the wall. At seven, she rose and began making breakfast. Killian soon joined her.

  


“You weren’t up all night, were you?” he asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.

  


“No, no. New drug seems to be working alright. I’ve just gotten really used to this, you know? It’s really peaceful this time of morning. And the sunrises are nice.”

  


“Aye, that they are.” He took a bite of his pancakes. “They’re very good. Thank you.”

  


“No problem.” 

  


Once she got to work, she downed three cups of coffee within an hour.A few coworkers asked if she was alright. (“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a late night.”) When it came time to take her lunch break, she set a twenty minute timer on her phone and napped against her keyboard. Her sandwich sat ignored in the office refrigerator. She went to bed before dinner when she got home. 

  


“You alright, Swan?” 

  


“Yeah, it was just a long day. Isaac has been being a real you-know-what lately.” At least that part was true. She crashed for an hour or two, and found the room dark when she awoke. Killian was sleeping like a rock. 

  


That became her schedule for the next two weeks. Sure, she was hungry from missing so many meals. But it meant she was cutting down on calories, right? She’d been meaning to start a new diet for a while now, anyway. This worked as an easy way to do that. As the days moved past, she started seeing less and less of her stomach in the mirror. Her collarbone stood out proudly. She didn’t say a word about any of this to the red-lipped psychiatrist. 

  


On Thursday, a little while after starting her napping at lunch and dinner routine, Killian swung by to pick her up after work. As they walked from the elevator to the glass doors, her hands and feet started tingling. Vision clouding, she opened her mouth to warn him but her legs gave out beneath her. She heard a shout before it all went dark.

  


She woke up to several machines connected to her and the stench of formaldehyde stinging her nose. He was sitting there holding her hand, concern shadowing his features. A doctor walked into the room, white coat swishing and clipboard clasped in her hand. 

  


“Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty. Glad you’re awake.” Emma groaned in response. “I’m Dr. Fa, but you can call me Mulan.”

  


“Hello.” Her voice was scratchy and she swallowed a few times to clear it. 

  


“You’re here because you fainted, and weren’t able to be woken for several minutes, is that correct?” The blonde looked to Killian, unsure of what happened. He nodded. “From the paramedics’ report, you faded in and out of consciousness over the drive to the hospital.

  


“I don’t remember that.”

  


“I don’t suspect you would. Miss Swan, you’re fairly malnourished. Have you been eating properly?”

  


“Not really. I’ve been skipping lunch and dinner most days for the past two weeks.”

  


“And why is that?”

  


“Sleeping through them.”

  


“Hmm. Your files say that you’ve been prescribed zolpidem tartrate and fluoxetine, but our tests only show the fluoxetine in your system.”

  


“Haven’t been taking the Ambien.” Killian’s eyebrows rose up his forehead.

  


“Swan, why didn’t you tell me?”

  


“Um…”

  


“Mr. Jones, if you wouldn’t mind, I do need to ask a few more questions before that,” the doctor piped up. “Miss Swan, aside from the malnourishment, you do seem to be alright. I’m clearing you for release, but I will refer you to a nutritionist. I also think it’s best that you schedule an appointment with Dr. Mills, to discuss your reasons for not taking the zolpidem and for your eating habits.”

  


“Okay. Thanks, Dr. Fa.”

  


“Don’t mention it.” The woman turned and left, and a nurse came into the room a few minutes later to disconnect her from all the monitors. She changed out of the hospital gown she’d been dressed in and back into her own clothes, and Killian walked with her out of the building. While he drove back to their apartment complex, he was silent. His jaw clenched and his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

  


“Killian, what’s wrong?” He didn’t say a word. He didn’t speak to her until they were in the living room. “Come on, talk to me.”

  


“Why, Swan?” he bit out. “You clearly didn’t see fit to talk to me!”

  


“What do you mean?”

  


“For two weeks, you didn’t take your medication. You didn’t say a word about it, and apparently you lied when I asked if you were alright!”

  


“I—”

  


“Not a word! We both went on our merry ways. You’ve been starving yourself for weeks, and here I was, thinking you were okay!” he shouted. “Emma, I’m just trying to help you. But if you don’t tell me when something’s wrong, I’m not able to do that.” The last bit came out broken. A bit dejected, even. 

  


“I— I’m sorry. I was wrong. I see that now.” She took a breath. “It’s just… I’m still not used to having somebody want to look out for me. I still haven’t adapted to… not doing everything on my own.”

  


“How long is it going to take, Swan? We’ve been together for, what, three years, now? How long is it going to take for you to let me in?” His jaw flexed. She cast her eyes downwards. Here was where he ran out of steam.“Let’s just… eat, and go to bed.”

  


“Okay,” she murmured. While he pulled ingredients from the shelves and fridge, she made phone calls to the nutritionist and psychiatrist. The nutritionist would meet with her on Saturday, but Mills was available the next day. They ate in a bitter silence and she cleared their plates. He stood, sighed, pulled a box of chamomile tea out of the cabinet, setting it on the counter before her. 

  


“If you won’t take your medication, at least try this. It might help you sleep.”

  


“Thanks,” she said quietly. Sincerity filled her eyes, and he softened a bit when he caught it. His throat bobbed with a swallow. He nodded and turned to get ready for bed. 

  


The tea was sweet.

  


The following morning, he spoke to her, but only when necessary. A chasm loomed between them. He felt distant, and more than a little cold. It was better, though, than when he had been actively angry at her, fire burning in his veins. She drove him to work, and they parted with little more than a goodbye and a soft, sad smile. On the way to Regina’s office, she dialed Isaac. 

  


“Hey, I’ll be in at around 10. I have an appointment.” Her boss took a breath.

  


“Don’t bother, Miss Swan. I really don’t think this job is the right fit for you.”

  


“What are you saying?”

  


“I’m saying you’re fired.” She sat, shellshocked, mildly appreciative of the fact that he’d waited to tell her until she was at a red light. “You’ve been out of the office more time than you’ve been in for several months now. You’re missing deadlines, your articles are full of misinformation and shoddy interviews. You may come by to collect your belongings and your final paycheck this afternoon, but please don’t return after that.”

  


“Goodbye, then, Mr. Heller.” She touched her fingertip to the red “end call” button on her phone and dropped it into her lap. Fired.

  


Regina asked if they could cover her new unemployed status at the end of the session. Emma agreed and asked what she’d like to talk about first. The therapist selected her sleep medication as their first topic.

  


“Why didn’t you take the Ambien as it was prescribed?”

  


“When Dr. Merlin was explaining it, he um… mentioned that a potential side effect was hallucinations. And I didn’t want to risk going through something like that again, not after what happened last time.”

  


“I see. But you didn’t mention this. To anyone. You could’ve told the specialist that you didn’t feel comfortable with it, or me, or even your partner, Mr. Jones. Why didn’t you?”

  


“It just didn’t seem like a big deal, at the time. It seemed, to me, like the most logical decision. I worked out a system that let me avoid what I wanted to avoid, and I felt okay, for the most part.”

  


“Except for the fact that you were starving and exhausted, yes?”

  


“But it didn’t feel that way. The antidepressant has been helping. I just didn’t feel bad. I wasn’t dealing with all of the mental pain, so I didn’t really acknowledge the physical pain until I got such a big wakeup call.”

  


“Hmm. I’ve been conferring with Doctor Merlin on the topic of your medications, and we do both agree it’s best to take you off of the zolpidem. He mentioned natural melatonin chews. Essentially, it’s a small, chewable supplement containing a natural hormone that causes you to fall asleep. Your brain produces it on its own, but in some cases you don’t produce enough, and thus you have problems falling asleep. It doesn’t have significant side effects, either.”

  


“That sounds okay.”

  


“Good. They’re over the counter, you can get them at the local drugstore.”

  


“Okay.”

  


“Now, we need to talk a little bit about why you haven’t been eating.”

  


“It’s just because I was sleeping through my meals.”

  


“I see. You’ve been skipping most of your meals for a few weeks now. Surely you’ve lost weight because of that.”

  


“Yeah, what about it?”

  


“Did you enjoy losing weight?”

  


“Well, kinda. I’d been meaning to start a diet for a while, so when outside forces kind of made one up for me, I went with it.”

  


“Can you tell me a little more about your reasoning behind wanting to start a diet?”

  


“I don’t know. I just seemed to be looking a little heavier in the mirror, and I figured being heathier never hurt anybody, right? More veggie platters, fewer grilled cheeses, a short run a few times a week, that kind of thing.”

  


“Would you say that your primary reason behind wanting to start a diet was to live a healthier lifestyle, or change your appearance?”

  


“Not really either. I mean, sure, my appearance was kind of what made me think of it, but the whole idea of living healthier was what really got me excited.”

  


“Okay, then. I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t at risk for developing an eating disorder.”

  


“Oh, no, nothing like that.”

  


“Alright.” 

  


They talked for a while afterwards, about how she could be healthy without restricting herself, and about opening dialogues with her doctors about medication. They also discussed (at great length) her recent firing. Towards the end of the session, Emma brought up how Killian had been angry the night prior.

  


“And… he barely talked to me this morning. It hurts, seeing this, because it’s my fault, and I know it, and I don’t know how to make it right.”

  


“The only person who truly understands exactly why he’s acting this way, I’m afraid, is Mr. Jones. In my professional opinion, though, he’s upset because he feels you don’t trust him. He’s upset because he feels he’s not doing something to gain your trust, and frustrated that after all this time you aren’t able to put your faith in him, that you aren’t letting him in and letting him help you.”

  


“But I do! I do trust him. He’s one of the only people I _do_ trust!”

  


“I know that, Miss Swan. You know that. But he doesn’t.”

  


“Oh.”

  


“And I’d say, on some level, he’s angry at himself for not realizing anything was wrong. You two need to talk. Sit down and really communicate, because that is the issue you’re having. And the sooner the better. If you allow these things to fester, it creates problems that could grow to be unfixable.”

  


“Thanks, Dr. Mills.”

  


“No problem. I’ll see you in two weeks, okay?”

  


“Alright. Goodbye.”

  


“Goodbye, Miss Swan.” Emma left and returned home. She fixed a snack and sat down with it and her laptop on the couch. Might as well start the job search early, right?

  


Unfortunately, there were no open journalist positions she could find in the area. No jobs at all, really, that were decent-paying, local, and lined up with her education and capabilities. She searched for hours but found nothing. At four o’clock, she left to go pick up her stuff. From there she drove to Killian’s office to bring him home. 

  


“How was your day?” he asked.

  


“Not great. I got fired.”

  


“Oh. I’m sorry.”

  


“Me, too.” The rest of the drive home was quiet, but it was different from that morning. Earlier it had been seething, bitter silence. Now it was merely uncomfortable. 

  


She put the car in park and climbed out. They walked, side by side, from the back of the parking lot up to the elevator. After they stepped inside the metal box, she asked,

  


“Can we talk?”

  


“Aye. What about?”

  


“About today, and last night.”

  


“Alright.”

  


“I want— no, I need— you to know that I _am_ sorry for not telling you. And I _do_ trust you, with everything I’ve got.”

  


“Aye, Swan. I know. I— I’m sorry for overreacting.”

  


“I don’t think you overreacted. I think you were pretty justified in what you said and did.”

  


“Well, regardless, it’s in the past, aye?”

  


“Yeah.”

  


“Let’s leave it behind us, then.”

  


“Okay,” she smiled, lacing their fingers together. They ate a light dinner and watched a bit of TV before going to bed. She fell into a light sleep on his lap a little while into the first episode. Wavering in and out of consciousness, she occasionally felt him running his hands through her hair gently. To the tune of the theme song, he shook her awake. They smiled at each other as they rose from the sofa, and linked their hands together as they walked toward their bedroom and bathroom. He swung them back and forth, eliciting a giggle from her. 

  


When she got out of the shower, he was waiting for her with a warm mug of the chamomile he’d offered the night before. She smiled and sipped from it in bed while he got ready to sleep. 

  


The following morning, he put on some music while they got ready. Every so often as he passed her by, his hand would tug on hers and they’d twirl around each other. Neither lost their smile all morning. On the drive to his office, they knitted their hands together over the center console. After dropping him off, with a quick kiss shared between them, she drove back home. 

  


Without any idea what she should do for the rest of the day, she decided to clean the apartment. For hours, she scrubbed, wiped, polished and tidied, stopping only to pack a small lunch to visit Killian. Their little office picnic was enjoyable, interspersed with laughter and little pecks to each other’s cheeks. It felt so good to not be fighting with each other. After lunch, she picked up the melatonin from the local drugstore and went back to cleaning. The grout lines in the shower she’d been meaning to scrub for three months? Sparkling. Those three baskets of laundry that had been sitting there for God knows how long? Washed. The dark stain on the bedroom wall? Painted over. The place looked brand new by the time she was done with it. 

  


“Wow. You were really busy today, weren’t you?” he asked when he got home. She smiled. “I think we ought to go out for dinner tonight.”

  


“Where do you have in mind?”

  


“Mmm… what about that little Italian place by the water?”

  


“Their pasta is really good.”

  


“I know,” he laughed. “You kept stealing mine off my plate the last time we went.”

  


“Italian it is, then.”

  


She went into their bedroom to change, and he did the same. As she pulled her shirt off over her head, he leaned in close and murmured, “On the other hand, we could stay in for the night. Maybe skip right to the dessert.” She chuckled and kissed his nose. The gesture seemed to shock him for a moment, enough time for her to slip her little pink dress from its hanger and drop it over her head. 

  


“Nope,” she smirked, pulling a pair of shoes from the shelf. “Dinner first, then dessert, like a good boy. I’ll make it worth your while,” she added. With a heavy swallow, he responded,

  


“Christ. You, lass, are going to be the death of me.”

  


“Zip me up?” she asked with an innocent smile, twisting her hair over her shoulder. He obliged her, warm fingers clasping around the small metal fastener and sliding it up her back slowly. A shiver ran down her spine. He turned from her, then, and pulled a blue button up off the rod. He did up a few buttons, leaving most of the top undone. Over it, he slid a black vest with a leather collar, and a jacket to match. 

  


“Are you just going to watch me get dressed, Swan?” She shook her head. 

  


“Right, um… getting ready. Right.” He let out a little chuckle at her flusteredness. She crossed to the bathroom and began sponging on some makeup. He joined her a moment later to redraw the kohl under his eyes and muss his hair in the mirror. (“I’ll never understand it, how much time you spend making it look that way.” “You love it.” “I do.”) 

  


“You don’t need it, you know,” he mentioned offhandedly, watching her from the edge of the bathtub.

  


“What’s that?”

  


“All that garbage you’re putting on your face. You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

  


“Mmm. You’re sweet,” she said, dipping her brush into a different powder and swiping it across her eyelid. 

  


A few minutes later, she was ready to go. They walked out the door, hand in hand, and through the city streets to the harbor and the little restaurant there. She ordered pasta.

  


After dinner they walked home, her a little tired and leaning against him. When she began to shiver, he shrugged out of his coat and laid it around her shoulders. Once home, they didn’t actually make good on their shameless flirting from earlier, but settled for cuddling in bed with the occasional kiss shared. 

  


Saturday arrived and he went with her to the nutritionist. It was a small clinic a little ways out of the city, a brown building with green letters on the sign. The receptionist, a petite, quiet woman by the name of Elsa, handed her the forms and she filled them out quickly. From there, the two waited quietly, hands linked together and chatting amicably. 

  


“Emma Swan?” yawned a man in blue, holding a clipboard. His nametag read Walter.

  


“That’s me,” she responded, standing. 

  


“Right this way.” The tired man, Emma, and Killian all walked down a bright, sparsely adorned hallway. “Dr. North will be here in a few minutes.”

  


“Thank you.” She settled on the paper-covered table, and he sat on the chair across small the room from her. 

  


“Alright?” he asked, seeing her fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater.

  


“Yeah,” she smiled. “I’m okay.” The doctor made her appearance, then.

  


“Hello. My name is Glinda North. You’re Miss Swan?”

  


“That’s me.”

  


“Alright. So, according to your chart, you were recently hospitalized because you passed out due to hunger and exhaustion.”

  


“Yup.”

  


“Can you fill me in on that, a little bit?”

  


“Yeah, uh… I was dealing with some really bad insomnia and ended up sleeping through lunch and dinner every day. It caught up with me after a few weeks.”

  


“Hm. Did you lose weight during this time?”

  


“Yeah. I’d been meaning to start dieting for a little while, and just kind of went with it when my schedules created one for me.”

  


“How much weight, exactly, then?”

  


“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced at Killian, who shrugged. “Twelve pounds, maybe?”

  


“Okay. If you’d step onto the scale, please.” Emma followed her instruction. The doctor moved the slider back and forth before noting down whatever she discovered on her chart. “You’re within normal bounds for somebody your height, gender and age. A little on the light side, but not unhealthy.”

  


“So what does that mean for the future?”

  


“What do you mean?”

  


“Do you have any… guidelines, specific diets, whatever, for me?”

  


“Not really. Are you comfortable with your current weight, size, etcetera?” 

  


“I’d say so, yeah.”

  


“Alright. You’re healthy— I really have nothing further for you.”

  


“Alright…”

  


“Make healthy choices, call your primary care physician if you have any questions. You seem intelligent, I’m sure you can figure most of it out on your own.”

  


“Okay. Thank you, I guess.”

  


“It’s no problem. Goodbye, Miss Swan, Mr. Jones.” She turned and left the room without a further word.

  


“Glad the insurance covered that,” she muttered as she gathered her bag. 

  


“Aye, she didn’t seem very helpful.”

  


“And did it… seem to you like she was talking down to me?”

  


“Maybe a little bit. She seemed a tad condescending.”

  


“At least we don’t have to go out and get fancy weight gain shakes or whatever.”

  


“Aye, there’s that.” Out the doors of the clinic and inside the Bug, he asked, “Anyplace we need to go today?”

  


“I think it’s about time for a grocery trip.”

  


“Okay, then.” He set the little car in motion and drove them back to the hubbub of their home city. 

  


When it was up to him, they only went shopping with a list. Since the trip was rather impromptu, though, they shopped her style— grabbing what they needed as they discovered it while traipsing through the aisles. It felt more natural that way. They didn’t end up buying much, and what they did buy was all low-fat, lean protein, what have you. 

  


“Everything alright? I don’t know that our fridge has ever had zero calorie butter in it before.”

  


“Yeah. It’s just… seeing a nutritionist and whatever, made me think about healthy choices and all of that.”

  


He went back to work on Monday, and she kept looking for a new job. After several hours of fruitless search, she decided to go for a run. Afterwards, sweaty and exhausted, she took a quick, cool shower and pulled out her laptop, intent on finding some recipe for dinner. 

  


While she waited for the carefully measured broth to boil, she decided to step on the scale. So she could have some idea of her weight at the moment. So she could get back to how she’d been before. Right? Killian got home and they ate the soup she’d made. 

  


“It’s very good. Thank you.” She hummed and took another small spoonful. After he finished eating and she felt she’d eaten enough, she picked up both of their bowls and set them by the sink. “I’ll get the dishes, Swan. You made dinner.”

  


“Thanks.” He smiled and kissed her gently, before she walked away a little bit and into the living room. 

  


“You didn’t eat very much, love. Feeling alright?”

  


“Yeah, just not hungry.” She picked the remote up off the coffee table and started flicking through Netflix, trying to find a film for the evening. They carried a quiet conversation while he did the dishes, and when he was done he walked around the counter and settled on the couch beside her. 

  


“What are we watching tonight?”

  


“Peter Pan,” she smirked. 

  


“Old-school, aye? I never did like the protagonist.”

  


“Hook, then?”

  


“Always wanted a little more backstory, I suppose. He seems misunderstood.” She chuckled and pressed play. 

  


After the movie had finished, they stretched and went to get ready for bed. He finished in the bathroom first, and went to read a bit while she changed. As she unfolded her pajama top, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Objectively, she knew that she looked fine. She was healthy. But a little voice inside her head whispered “not enough.” With a sigh, she threw on her clothes and tied up her hair. After turning out the light, she slipped into bed beside him. 

  


“I don’t tell you enough how gorgeous you are.” She hummed noncommittally. He pulled her closer, and pressed his lips against her brow. “So,” kiss. “Bloody,” kiss. “Beautiful.” She smiled and kissed him back, and from there they descended into less than innocent activities.

  


The following morning, they rose with the sun. Her hair had fallen from its messy bun atop her head at some point during the night, and he had a pillow crease in his cheek. When they sludged to the bathroom and caught sight of themselves in the mirror, he grinned. She smiled a little back, but yawned quickly and let it drop. 

  


For breakfast, they ate toast spread with a thin layer of peanut butter. She ate about half her slice before standing and tossing it into the trash can; the corners of her mouth lifted up in a reassuring smile at his quizzical eyebrow. His eyebrows gave a “if you’re sure,” gesture, and he returned to his meal while she pulled out her phone. 

  


_Journalist jobs in Queens_

  


_Journalist jobs near me_

  


_Editor positions near me_

  


Sitting around all day was making her feel restless. Cleaning, running, cooking— they were adequate past times for a day or two, but after a little while she got bored. She needed work— anything that could keep her mind and hands occupied for a while. 

  


After Killian finished eating, they went to get ready. She tossed on a tank top and jean shorts, tying her hair up. She’d probably go on a run later. He slid on his vest and turned towards her. Her slender, nimble fingers quickly did up the buttons. He kissed her. 

  


“Mmm. Very handsome,” she said, patting his chest. “I’ve always liked the businessman look.”

  


“Oh really?” he murmured, sidling closer.

  


“Yeah,” she hummed. “But you have to go to work.”

  


“That I do.” Neither moved, they just stared at each other. Finally, she heaved a sigh, pressed a lingering (but chaste) kiss to his lips, and said,

  


“Come on. You’ll be late.” The corners of his mouth tugged up into a little smile and they walked to the door. “I’ll see you tonight?”

  


“Aye. I love you.”

  


“Love you too.” He kissed her cheek one more time before opening the door. 

  


She did end up going on that run. Though her stomach grumbled at her a bit, she didn’t make lunch, deciding instead to run another few searches for work. Nothing.

  


He came home and they made a small dinner together. Pleasant fragrances floated around the kitchen with the steam from the sauce, and music played from the small speaker they kept on top of the fridge. While he strained the noodles, her stomach gurgled loudly. 

  


“Hungry, Swan?” She giggled. They finished assembling the food and seated themselves at the table. She ate about half her pasta before pushing her plate away a little bit and leaning back in her chair. His eyebrow creeped up his forehead; she pointedly ignored it. “Talk to me, love. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  


“I don’t know, I…” she trailed off, unable to find the words to explain what she was feeling. Her eyes started to sting, after a few moments of struggling with her thoughts and his sympathetic look. He stood from the his chair and walked around to her, drawing her up from her seat and into his arms.

  


“Hey, now. No need for tears. I’ve got you.”

  


“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered tearily. “I know I’m healthy, and I know I look okay, it’s just… and I don’t even know why I care, because I know that it doesn’t matter and it’s the inside that counts and all of that, but I just feel wrong, and…” by now she was full on sobbing. He held her tighter, rubbing up and down her back and whispering sweet nothings into her hair. 

  


“No, no, it’s alright. I’ve got you. There’s nothing wrong with you, lass. Absolutely nothing wrong.” She pulled away to look at him. One of his hands came up to wipe away the salty droplets still dripping from her eyes, while the other remained resting on her arm. “Let’s get you to bed, aye? Maybe some sleep will help.” 

  


She nodded and let him guide her to their room. He passed her her favorite pajamas from the dresser and she slipped them on, resisting the urge to pinch at her legs and belly as she did so. A little voice inside her head (that sounded suspiciously like the lizards had) said “too much there.” He kissed her forehead and said 

  


“I’ll be right back. Let me just go clean up, aye?” She acquiesced quietly and he did just that. When he returned, the last vestiges of wakefulness were slipping from her grasp. His warm hand searched for hers, finding it and giving it a squeeze before she finally drifted off. 

  


She woke in the middle of the night with him curled tight around her. After a few minutes staring at the ceiling, the sticky little voice inside her head said to go check the scale. She did. The number displayed on the small blue screen had only gone down by one. _Maybe dinner hasn’t gotten to you yet,_ the little demon said, so she crept over to the toilet and kneeled beside it. She crammed two fingers toward her throat, holding them there until she felt her food coming back up. It hit the water with a splatter. The sound was enough to make her retch again, but nothing came up. She tried the scale again. No change. 

  


With a quiet groan, she closed the bathroom door and stuffed a towel beneath the crack before flicking on the light. No need to wake him up. Before the mirror she stood, displeased. Her fingers reached for her arms, the little bits of flesh between her side and her shoulder, her stomach. She pinched, pulling the skin out as far from herself as it would go. A slimy, golden voice started saying “Skinny, skinny, skinny,” over and over in her head. Feeling less than inadequate, she got back in bed and slid into a dreamless sleep. 

  


“Any better?” he asked when they woke the next morning. She shook her head. “Alright. Let’s go grab some breakfast and figure out what to do from there, aye?” She shivered at the thought but assented. They dragged themselves from their room to the kitchen, where she sat on a stool while he pulled things out of the fridge. 

  


A few minutes later, he set a plate in front of her. She looked up and he smiled tightly, squeezing her shoulder before sitting beside her. She scooped up a small forkfuland guided it to her lips, taking a small breath before putting it in her mouth. 

  


“Okay?” 

  


“Yeah.” She ate another few bites before stopping. 

  


“What’s wrong?” he gently queried. 

  


“I can’t eat anymore.”

  


“Why not?”

  


“Because…” she stopped. “I just can’t.”

  


“Sure you can, Swan.”

  


“No, Killian, I can’t.” She stood from the table and walked away, not waiting long enough to see his face sink and his hand drop, but knowing they did all the same. Feet falling fast, she moved to the bathroom and closed the door. She bent over the toilet and forced her eggs and toast back up. He knocked gently against the wood only moments after. 

  


“I’m sorry I upset you, love. Can we talk?” No response. “Can I come in?” She ignored him and retched again. “Emma… you don’t sound well. I’m opening the door.” He was met with the sight of her leaning over the porcelain throne, with two fingers stuffed down her throat and silent tears streaming down her face. “Oh, please don’t do this to yourself, love.” He knelt beside her and pulled her hand from her mouth, clenching it between his own on her lap. Her head hung.

  


“Wh— what the hell is wrong with me?” she hiccuped. 

  


“Nothing’s wrong, love. You’re sick, that’s all. It’s not your fault.” He wiped the tears from her eyes and held her tightly while she calmed. “I’ve got to go to work. Do you want to try finishing breakfast while I get ready?” She nodded slowly.

  


“No promises.”

  


“And I don’t expect any, my lovely Swan. Just try, alright?” She nodded again. He kissed her forehead, drew them both up to a standing position, and sent her on her way. She managed a few more bites in the time it took for him to get dressed and groomed. “That’s good. You’re trying.”

  


“I know it’s not enough, but it feels like too much.”

  


“It’s okay. How about you call me around lunchtime?”

  


“I think I can do that.”

  


“Alright. I’ll talk to you soon, then.” He dropped a kiss to her lips. “G’bye.”

  


“Bye.” He left and she dumped her plate. Afterwards, she changed out of her pajamas and went on a long run, returning sweaty and tired to the apartment at 10. An hour and a half until lunch. Not knowing what to do, she decided to tidy up the apartment again. A weekly deep-clean was good, right? (Besides, it kept her moving and burning calories.) 

  


After she’d scrubbed away any grime that had accumulated since she’d last cleaned, she flopped onto the couch. 11:10. 20 minutes before she had to eat. Setting a timer on her phone, she covered herself with a blanket to take a short nap. When it buzzed, she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before dialing him.

  


“Hey,” he greeted. 

  


“Hey.”

  


“How are you?”

  


“Meh. I went for a run, cleaned up a little bit. What about you?”

  


“Bored. Missing you.”

  


“Mmm.”

  


“So, what are you eating for lunch?”

  


“I don’t really know. I’m not hungry.”

  


“Not hungry, or don’t want to eat?” She smiled grimly.

  


“Yeah.”

  


“Try to get something down for me, alright? What about carrot sticks?”

  


“I’ll do my best.” She put him on speaker and set the phone on the counter while she dug out the orange vegetable. “So anything new with you?”

  


“Not really.”

  


“Hmm.”

  


“You?”

  


“Not much.”

  


“It seems we’re getting boring, love,” he said as she bit into a carrot. 

  


“I guess so.”

  


“Any plans for the rest of the day?”

  


“Not really. I’m trying to find something to do.”

  


“Just try not to torture yourself too much, Swan, alright?”

  


“I’ll try.” They lapsed into silence for a moment.

  


“Oh, bloody hell,” he grumbled. “Gold wants a meeting. I’ll see you after work?”

  


“See you then.”

  


“Love you.”

  


“Love you, too.”

  


“Goodbye.” She hung up and tried to muster up the will eat a few more carrot sticks. She succeeded, briefly, before putting the rest back in the bag and dropping them in the fridge. 

  


Sighing, she stepped on the scale. No change. Her eyes flicked over the rest of herself in the mirror once more before she the room and flopped onto the living room sofa. She pulled her phone from her waistband and dug through articles on weight loss. At three, she set the thermostat down low because the shivering would burn calories. At four, she took another nap. He came home around an hour later and roused her from her sleep for dinner. 

  


He cooked her a chicken breast while she watched and measured out an even cup of broccoli. Satisfied with the size of it, she nodded and set her plate by her seat before helping him with his own. They ate together— or rather, he ate like someone _normal_ , and she nibbled away at her food until she felt she couldn’t anymore. He sighed when he cleared their dishes, and a pang of guilt reverberated through her core. _Why can’t you just be normal, Emma?_ she asked herself. 

  


With plates rinsed and set in the sink, they walked towards the sofa. His hand skimmed lightly at her waist. They watched an episode of their show before turning in. She swallowed her medication and brushed her teeth before crawling in bed; he flicked off the lights and followed her.

  


Despite the melatonin, she couldn’t fall asleep. 

  


“You still awake?” he murmured.

  


“Yeah. Did I wake you up?”

  


“No. Can’t sleep either.”

  


“Hmm.”

  


“Listen, Swan, about this morning…” his hand found hers in the dark. “Can you make me a promise?”

  


“Maybe.”

  


“Promise me that you won’t keep doing that. Making yourself ill.”

  


“I— I don’t want to, but I feel like I have to. But… I will promise to try.”

  


“Thank you, love.” She inched closer to him and pillowed her head on his chest. He draped his arm over her _(too wide)_ waist, and she managed to drift off shortly after. 

  


A week passed by. She searched for work and found nothing. They made meals together and she measured out exact quantities. He went to the office every morning and she went running. No lunch, minimal breakfast, a few bites of dinner. Counting calories. The little voice inside her head kept yelling at her, she kept submitting to it. 

  


Two days after her promise to him, though, he found her purging her breakfast in the restroom. Her head drooped with shame as he cleaned her up.

  


“I know I promised, but… I had to.”

  


“I’m not upset with you, Swan. Try not to do this tomorrow morning, though, aye?” She nodded, still feeling guilty. He kissed the crown of her head and she left the bathroom so he could get ready for work. 

  


She managed to keep her little meals in her stomach each time she ate, for three more days, before she was back at it. And each time she leaned over the toilet and stuffed her hand in her mouth, more guilt ate at her than she had eaten in the past week. Several days passed and she skipped her therapy session. Regina called her twice a day for a week before she answered.

  


“Miss Swan?”

  


“Yes.”

  


“You haven’t been answering your phone, and you missed your session.”

  


“I’m aware.”

  


“Is everything alright?”

  


“I’m not going to be coming for therapy for a while. Thanks for all of your help these past few months, but some things have come up that I need to deal with on my own.”

  


“Miss Swan, I really don’t think it’s best—”

  


“Goodbye, Dr. Mills,” Emma cut her off. There was a shocked silence at the other end of the line and she hung up. 

  


Days turned into weeks— she still couldn’t find a job. She kept on not eating. And every few mornings, Killian found her bent over the toilet bringing her breakfast back up. In short, nothing changed. 

  


Until one Thursday. 

  


She woke up a half hour before she normally would, nauseated. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and hurried to the bathroom. She heard Killian stir as she retched. Nothing came up. He stumbled sleepily into the room and knelt beside her, scooping her hair back as he yawned. 

  


“Emma, please,” he begged. 

  


“I’m not trying this time,” she said, breathing heavily. “I’m not in control.”

  


“Alright. Do you want to try eating something, settle your stomach?” She stiffened. “You don’t have to, it was just a suggestion.” She closed her eyes and nodded. 

  


“Not hungry.”

  


“Okay.” She kept dry heaving for a while, leaning back against him while her stomach settled in between.

  


“I think it’s over,” she said. 

  


“Do you want to go back to bed, or try getting some food in you?”

  


“Go back to sleep.” He nodded and they stood. She crawled back under the covers and he tucked them tight around her. The fog of slumber settled over her quickly. What felt like moments later, she was being gently shaken awake. 

  


“I’ve got to go. Call me when you wake back up, okay?” Some form of yes made its way out of her mouth; he brushed some hair off her sweaty forehead and dropped a kiss in its place.She went back to sleep as he left. 

  


Several hours later, she reawoke. 

  


“Hey,” he greeted when she called him. 

  


“Hi.”

  


“Feeling any better?”

  


“Yeah. I feel completely fine, actually.”

  


“Strange. Have you eaten anything yet?”

  


“No.”

  


“Alright. Try, okay?”

  


“Yeah.”

  


“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  


“Me, too.”

  


“Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. I have some reports due Monday.”

  


“I won’t keep you from it, then. See you tonight?”

  


“Aye. Thanks for calling, Swan.”

  


“No problem. I love you.”

  


“Love you, too. G’bye.”

  


“Bye.” The line disconnected and she dropped it on the bed. The day passed in a boring, hungry blur. 

  


The process repeated itself the next morning.

  


And the next. 

  


When she leaned back against him as the nausea faded, she took a deep breath.

  


“Hey, um… I was thinking.”

  


“What about?”

  


“I— I think I might be pregnant.”

  


“Oh.”

  


“You know, I’ve been sick, and… I’m late. Really late, and I thought it was just because of how I’ve been eating, but, maybe it’s not? And I haven’t gotten a test yet, because I’m not sure, and I wanted to know what you thought before…”

  


“Hey. Whatever happens, it’s okay. We’ll get through it together, aye?” She smiled a bit. “Do you want me to run to the drugstore?”

  


“I’ll go with you. I need to get out of this apartment.” They stood and dressed. She tied up her hair and stuck in her contacts, not bothering with makeup. Her previously form-fitting shirt hung limply off her frame. They walked down to the car and climbed in; he held her hand over the center console as he drove. 

  


He pulled two boxes off the shelf, holding them out for her approval. 

  


“Good?”

  


“Yeah.”

  


“Alright.” They went to pay and drove back home. He sat against the bathtub while she took the tests, and she sat beside him while they waited, plastic clenched tight in her hand. “Emma, whatever happens—” 

  


“I know.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. A minute passed. “I think they’re done.”

  


“Are you going to look?”

  


“No, you’re going to.” She passed them to him, her head tilted back to catch his reaction. His face cracked into a grin. “Is it…”

  


“Aye, Swan. Positive, both of them!”

  


“We’re going to be… parents,” she said with a thick swallow.

  


“That we are.” He kissed her. “We’re about to become a family.” 

  


“You’re really excited, aren’t you?”

  


“I am. Are you?”

  


“I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in.”

  


“I know.” He set the pregnancy tests aside and reached for her hand. Cold and slightly limp in his, he guided it to her belly. “But this is a good thing.” A little smile grew on her face. 

  


“Yeah?”

  


“Most definitely.”

  


“We… are going to be parents.” More than a tinge of joy colored her voice. 

  


“You’re going to be a mother, Swan. And I’ll be a father.”

  


“I’m going to be a mom.”

  


“We’re having a baby, love. A real, live baby.”

  


“We’re having a baby.” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Wow.”

  


Since it was a Saturday, he didn’t need to go in for work. Instead, they went to the bookstore and purchased every book about babies that they could. His giddiness fueled her own excitement; and for the entire day, she was happy. Thrilled, even. 

  


But then nighttime came, and she couldn’t fall asleep. In the darkness, little worries and fears started to creep in. _What if I’m not a good mother?_ Soon after, _I never had parents, how can I raise this kid right?_ And then the inevitable _What if something happens to the baby?_

  


A few minutes later, another thought came up. _What is pregnancy going to do to me?_ She knew her thoughts were about to start spiraling. In response, she clenched her eyes shut tight and tried to block it all out. It worked for a moment but the not-thinking drained her of her energy and she gave up. Sighing at herself, she reached for Killian’s arm to nudge him awake. 

  


“Mmm. What is it, lass?”

  


“I’m afraid.”

  


“Why’s that?”

  


“All of the normal stuff, but… what’s being pregnant going to do to me?”

  


“Come again?”

  


“I’m going to get huge, and stretch marks and all sorts of things. That’s freaking me out.”

  


“I see. Here,” he said, sitting up and extending his arm to her. She sat as well and tucked herself against him, letting the arm rest across her shoulders. “Do you know how beautiful you truly are? What you see in the mirror isn’t who you are. You’re the sleepy smile I’ve loved waking up to these past three years. You’re laughing with your cheeks stretched high and light in your eyes. You’re full of so much passion and intelligence and life. You don’t see all of that when you go into the bathroom in the middle of the night and examine yourself from all angles.”

  


“How did you—”

  


“I’m very stealthy, love. But what I’m saying is, you are so much more than a number on a scale.” A sad sort of smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “And look here,” he added, placing her hands and his own over her still-flat belly. “There’s a little person inside you right now. A little lad or lass who is going to have your eyes and my ears. In, what? Eight months, maybe? We’ll have a little babe in our arms, a child who just belongs to us. And do you know how much we’re going to love that little moppet?”

  


“I think I have some idea.” His thumb caressed up and down the side of her hand. “And thanks.”

  


“It’s no trouble, love.”

  


“Not— not just for this, though. For… everything, these past few months. I’ve been off the ropes lately and you’ve been really patient with me, and I just— thanks.”

  


“Do you know why?”

  


“Why what?”

  


“Why I’m so patient?” She shook her head. “Because I love you. And if patience is what you need, I’ll strive to be the most patient man on this earth, because you deserve _everything_.”

  


“I love you, too.” He kissed her forehead.

  


“Now, let’s go back to sleep, aye? The baby needs rest as well.”

  


“Alright.”

  


Breakfast was a struggle. She knew she needed to eat, for her sake and the baby’s. But she couldn’t do it, not at first. The nausea didn’t help. In the end, she managed to eat a half a piece of toast and a short glass of juice. 

  


“I’m glad you’re trying. I’ve got to run an errand or two— be back in a tick.” He kissed her cheek and headed out the door. She grabbed her laptop and flopped onto the couch. After logging on, she searched “pregnancy anorexia.”

  


She read article after article. Babies who were malnourished as fetuses can be born with this and that, and also these things— all bad. Lists of symptoms wracked her nerves. She saw pictures of premature and underweight infants, and dozens of charts telling her the frequency of an issue that her eating habits could cause this little person. Sickened by it all, she shut her laptop. 

  


“I’m going to be better,” she said loudly to the silent walls. “I’m going to be better.” Spurred into action by her own words, she moved to the kitchen. In the pantry, she found a small can of chicken soup and decided it would do— after microwaving it, she brought a taste of it to her lips. Out of habit, her stomach clenched, but she steadfastly ignored it and swallowed. Encouraged, she took another few spoonfuls. 

  


It took her longer than it might have a few months ago, but she finished the entire bowl of soup. Even better, she resisted the urge to step on the scale. She called Killian. 

  


“I did it,” she greeted when he picked up.

  


“Did what, love?”

  


“I ate.”

  


“Really?”

  


“Yeah, a whole can of soup.”

  


“I’m proud of you, Emma. What brought this on?”

  


“When you left, I started reading all these articles online about pregnancy and not eating, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. All sorts of things could happen to the baby if I keep doing what I’ve been doing, and… I couldn’t do that to our kid. I don’t even care what happens to me at this point, I just want the little one to be okay.”

  


“I’m glad. Truly, this is incredible.”

  


“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  


“No, no. I’m in the car, on my way back right now.”

  


“See you in a bit, then?”

  


“Aye. I love you.”

  


“Love you too.”

  


She flopped onto the couch to wait for him. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the door squeaked open (they really needed to get that fixed) and he walked in, holding a few bags. He dropped them on the floor beside him and scooped her into his arms for a bear hug.

  


They weren’t happy because she ate. They were happy because she chose to eat. She _wanted_ to put food in her belly and draw nutrition from it. Maybe a can of soup wasn’t much, but it meant she was getting _better._ And maybe, just maybe, things could be good. Really good— better than they’d been, even when they met.

  


When they’d met at Any Given Sundae a few years back, she was a mess. She’d been let go of from her job a month prior and had no idea what to do next, and she’d just been abandoned by Neal (freaking Neal… she was honestly afraid for what might happen to the bastard if Killian ever met him, though, that was for certain).Her depression was really starting to take over her life in earnest. He’d knocked into her, dropping his mint chocolate chip cone down the front of his own shirt and made some comment that had her rolling her eyes.

  


He’d dared her to go out with him, and Emma Swan didn’t react to nonsense like this, but maybe it could be fun? Thank god she’d taken him up on his challenge. She’d been hesitant to let him in for a few months, until he helped her through a panic attack— they had a long, long talk about their pasts and issues. And from there, once she realized his support and care would never waver, she fell hard and fast. They’d moved in together at eight months and had been steady ever since; he was her rock, and she was his. 

  


When they’d met, she’d been a wreck. And things had gotten better over the past three years, but there’d never been a period where the two of them were at prime mental health. Now there was a chance that they could be.

  


“I’m so proud of you, love.” She smiled and snuggled tighter into him. “You’re getting better. Soon, everything will be back to normal.”

  


“Better than normal,” she countered. He shifted so he could kiss her temple. She looked up and grinned, and he began to place feather-light kisses all over her face and lips. His left hand traced from her back around to her abdomen. It was sandwiched there, between them, when she tugged on his shirt and crushed his mouth to hers. 

  


“Aye,” he breathed, looking and sounding wrecked after they pulled away, several moments (minutes) later. “Better than normal.” They laced their fingers together and sat in the kitchen chairs. Their hands rested, intertwined, on the table between them. “So… I’ve been thinking.”

  


“About?”

  


“What would you say to moving?”

  


“What do you mean?”

  


“Are you… happy, here in New York?”

  


“I don’t know. I mean, things aren’t bad.”

  


“But they aren’t truly incredible, either, are they?”

  


“I guess not.”

  


“So would you be open to the idea of going somewhere else?”

  


“But what about our job, and our lease, and…”

  


“Swan, our lease is over in two months. And I’m sure I can find another job.” She bit her lip.

  


“Okay, so say we do move.”

  


“Aye?”

  


“Where are we moving to? Are we going to fly the Bug to Neverland, or what?”

  


“I’m not quite sure. Maybe a small town, somewhere by the sea?” And then it hits her. A happy image of her and Killian, rocking back and forth on a porch swing watching their little child play in the yard, of block parties and a big yellow dog and the home she never had. Her eyes go glassy. “Swan?”

  


“Yeah,” she nods. “Let’s do it. Let’s move somewhere.”

  


“Really?”

  


“Really. I want to. Someplace where we can raise the little one.”

  


“A fresh start.”

  


“I like that.”

  


“A small town by the sea. Any other specifications?”

  


“What about in Maine?”

  


“I never knew you liked lobster, Swan!” he laughed. 

  


“No, no, it’s just… I had one or two foster homes there that weren’t too bad before I ran off for the first time.” The statement sobered him. “I’m actually not a huge fan of seafood,” she added to bring the smile back to his face. 

  


“Maine it is, then. Someplace with good schools, too.”

  


“And I want to get a real house, not just an apartment. A really big one, like a family home.”

  


“Here, let me get pen and paper. We need to start making a list.” He stood and pulled a notepad off the kitchen desk, and ruffled through the drawer to find a working pen. Once he’d succeeded, he sat once again in his seat and scribbled down the things they’d already listed. “Anything else?”

  


“Not that I can think of.” He rested his chin on his right fist.

  


“Liam was stationed in Portland for several months until he— um… well, until the accident. But anyway, on his days off, he’d often drive to this small town along the shore. From his stories, it sounded perfect.”

  


“What was it called?”

  


“I’m afraid I don’t recall. But if the name comes to me, maybe we could look into it?”

  


“Yeah, for sure.” A beat. “I’m sure it’ll be nice. Maybe it’ll help you feel more connected to your brother.”

  


“Aye. He’d be so excited right now, what with the baby and all. And he’d have loved you.”

  


“Really?”

  


“Aye. You two would get along.” That brought a smile to her face. The pen dropped from his dominant hand and and he recollected hers, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

  


They got out a computer and ran a search. A few different little cities popped up; he didn’t recognize any of them on the first page. The moment the second page of results loaded, though, his face lit up in a triumphant grin. 

  


“Is that it?”

  


“Aye, Swan. That’s it. That’s where Liam used to visit. Storybrooke.”

  


“Storybrooke, huh? Let’s go there, then.”

  


A few weeks passed while they packed and bought a house, scheduled doctors appointments and called potential employers. Despite their ever changing routine, though, he made sure some things stayed the same. Every week he’d take pictures of her and she filled out the blanks in a little journal designed to track her pregnancy. She took naps every day at 3, and he made dinner each night once he got home from work. 

  


A cloudy morning about eight weeks after they’d decided to move, they’d loaded their belongings into a truck, said their goodbyes, and drove out to Storybrooke in her little Bug. 

  


“This is it,” she said when they stepped out of the car six hours later. Before them stood a pale blue house with a white picket fence and a covered porch. He laced their fingers together. “Home sweet home.”

  


They walked up the steps and the key came out of his back pocket. He twisted it slowly in the lock, making a big show of opening the door and presenting it to her with an endearing, grandiose sweep of his arm. She walked in and he followed after her, warm hand pressed to the small of her back as they took in the front hall and the rooms beyond it. 

  


“Do you like it, Swan?” She pivoted so she was pressed up against him. 

  


“I love it.”

  


“I’m glad.” He moved to kiss her but was interrupted by the sound of the moving van pulling up in front of the house. She chuckled at the pout that captured his lips. 

  


“Come on, let’s go get our stuff.” They walked back out of the still-open door and began unloading boxes from the truck. Though a grueling task, they teased and laughed through it. He made sure that she didn’t lift any too-heavy boxes; and while it annoyed her a bit— she was pregnant, not an invalid— she had to admit he looked damn good while he carried the books upstairs. 

  


By the time everything was unloaded and boxes were stacked in their respective rooms, the sky was dark and the pair was exhausted. They were sitting, leaning against the wall in the kitchen, debating the merits of pizza versus Chinese when the doorbell rang. She cast a tired glance his way, head lolling onto her own shoulder. He pulled himself to his feet and went to answer it. She heard muffled voices and he came back a few minutes later with a casserole dish covered in foil. 

  


“Who was that?”

  


“A woman by the name of Mary Margaret. Said she saw the moving van and figured she’d welcome in the new neighbors.”

  


“Well, that was nice of her.”

  


“Aye, it was. Looks like we’ll have to wait on that takeout after all.” He lifted the dish. “Shall we eat?” She nodded and he uncovered the meal, sliding it in the oven before turning to help her up. “You look dead on your feet, lass. We should get to bed soon.”

  


“Bed’s all set up,” she started, before interrupting herself with a yawn. “We just need to find the sheets and pillows.”

  


“I’ll go find them while this cooks. Stay here, alright?”

  


“Killian, I can help. I’m pregnant, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make the bed.” He seemed to chew on the sentiment for a moment before nodding. They weaved their way through yet-unplaced furniture and towers of cardboard to their room— the sheets were easy to find, and they had the bed covered and made up before the oven timer went off. 

  


She managed a few bites of the casserole before her stomach started rolling. She ran to the sink. He was right behind her, hand scooping her hair away as she lost her dinner. 

  


“It’s the smell,” she choked.

  


“I’ll get it.” She bent over the sink and rested her forehead against the cool metal faucet while he covered the casserole and slid it into the fridge. “Do you want something else to eat, or…”

  


“Lost my appetite.” 

  


“Alright. If you want to head on up to bed, love, I’ll clean this up and join you in a minute.”

  


“Sounds good.” He pushed a few sweaty strands off her brow and placed a kiss there.

  


“Love you.”

  


“I love you, too.” 

  


“Now off with you,” he chuckled. She traipsed up the stairs and flopped onto the bed, not even thinking to take out her contacts before closing her eyes. What felt like an instant later, she was roused to him gently shaking her arm. “You need to change your clothes, love. You’re covered in moving day.” She sat and scrubbed her hands over her face. 

  


“Mmm. You’re right.” With a yawn, she let her legs fall over the edge of the bed and eased her weight onto them. Very slowly, they readied for bed before he clicked off the light and they collapsed against each other on top of the covers. Tomorrow, they’d unpack. The day after, they’d meet the people of this new little town and start setting up the rest of their lives. 

  


They settled into a routine fairly quickly. He had a job at the docks and she gained a position as sheriff’s deputy. The woman who had brought them dinner that first night became a close friend to Emma, as did her husband. It just so happened that said husband was her boss, David. The two developed a brother-sister dynamic within days of her starting work. 

  


Becoming Mary Margaret’s friend meant joining her group. Aside from the petite, green-eyed woman, there was the wild-spirited Merida, naïve Ariel, quiet Marian, and chatty Anna. Though the quintet was clearly tight-knit, Emma fit in seamlessly, and it was as if she’d been a part of the group since they’d all met. Killian became friendly with his co-workers, but they rarely interacted once they left the harbor. 

  


“Hey, you’re Killian, right?” David had queried one evening when the dark-haired swung by the station to pick Emma up. She peeked around the glass corner as he asked.

  


“Aye.”

  


“David,” he said, offering his hand to shake. “I work with Emma.”

  


“Nice to meet you.” 

  


“Likewise. So where are you from?”

  


“We moved from New York a few weeks ago, felt that it was time for a change of scenery.”

  


“Right, right. Emma mentioned. The accent, though— Scottish?”

  


“Not quite, mate. Irish.”

  


“I’ve always wanted to grab a drink with an Irishman,” David laughed. “What do you say we head down to the Rabbit Hole sometime?” Killian hesitated. Seeing the situation unfold, Emma ducked through the doorway to interrupt before things descended into problem territory. 

  


“Ready to go?” she asked before Killian could respond to the invitation. 

  


“Aye, love.” He sent her a small, grateful smile and tucked his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll be off, then. See you around?”

  


“Yeah. And that invitation still stands.”

  


“Thanks, mate.” The couple left the room and walked to Granny’s, the family-owned diner which was apparently the town’s hub. “And thank you, love. I sense that could’ve gotten dark rather quickly.”

  


“No problem— you’ve saved me enough times. You should hang out with him, though. David’s a pretty cool guy. Just… maybe in a nonalcoholic scenario.”

  


“Maybe we can have dinner with him and his wife sometime this week.”

  


“I’d like that. I want you to have friends, here.”

  


“As you wish.” He kissed her temple and opened the door. They ate their dinner and split a slice of pie before returning to their big blue house. As the pair readied for bed, he propped open a few windows; a cool spring breeze blew in, ruffling the thin white curtains she’d put up last week. 

  


Cuddled in bed, his hand draped over the space where her baby bump would soon appear. She no longer looked as waifish as she had even a few weeks ago, and though she still fought a mental battle over every meal, the love she held for their child continually won out. According to the blonde doctor at Storybrooke’s only medical center, since she was at 10 weeks, their little bundle would make his or her appearance in just over seven months. 

  


In the little town, she had just two doctors- the aforementioned Dr. Whale, who helped manage her general health and obstetrics, and Dr. Archibald Hopper, a psychiatrist. After a few meetings, she mentioned that her old prescription was almost complete. The squirrelly man had recommended she switch to a similar drug, one that lessened the already minimal prenatal risk of her current antidepressant. The side effects tapered off, and the sleeplessness caused by her Prozac disappeared. Dr. Hopper (“Archie, please.”) had suggested, though, that she slowly wean off of the melatonin chews. Between her antidepressants, insomnia supplements, and prenatal vitamins, she felt like a chemistry set. But she also felt alright, so it was worth it. 

  


By sixteen weeks, they’d told Mary Margaret and David. The news soon reached nearly everybody in town, and she stopped having to awkwardly turned down invitations for drinks. Killian, by extension, received more offers to grab dinner than grab a beer, which they were both grateful for. 

  


One night, when she was at 18 weeks, they’d relaxed on the couch and started suggesting names. His hand rested lightly over her slightly-distended stomach and the two both reveled in the itty-bitty flutters that had recently started. For a boy, he liked Vincent, Lincoln, and Christopher. For a girl, Maia or Calliope. She added Luca, Jonah, and Avalon to the pool. A handful of plastic shopping bags were piled on the floor before them; they needed to be brought up to the little nursery, but both were too content to move from their positions and do so. 

  


“Let’s get married,” he blurted after they’d lapsed into silence for a few moments. Her eyebrows leapt up in surprise. 

  


“Whoa. What?”

  


“Married, love. Let’s get married.” He was grinning like a fool, a smile took her face. 

  


“What’s brought this on?”

  


“I don’t know— I just…need you to be my wife.”

  


“Yeah?”

  


“Is that a ‘yes’ I hear, Swan?”

  


“Yes,” she laughed. “Yes, let’s get married.” He kissed her sweetly before jumping up from the couch. 

  


“The ring! The ring’s upstairs. Be back in two shakes!” he exclaimed before turning and bolting up the staircase. A delighted laugh slipped from her lips and rang out in the now-empty living room. Before she knew it, he was back, standing before her, with a little black box in his hand reading ‘New York Jewelers.’ With a flourish, he knelt and sprung open the little hinge. Inside was a silver-banded ring mounted with a delicate diamond. Two small, green stones flanked it. She held out her left hand for him and he slid the ring onto its designated finger. 

  


“I love you,” she said, pulling him back to his feet. 

  


“I love you too.” They wrapped their arms around each other and squeezed tightly.

  


David was the first person to notice. 

  


“Congratulations,” he’d greeted, nodding to the symbol of her engagement as she handed him a paper cup of coffee the next morning. “When’s the wedding?”

  


“We haven’t set a date just yet, he only proposed last night.”

  


“Well, I’m sure you two will be very happy together.”

  


“Thanks, David.”

  


The two ended up doing a small, spur-of-the-moment thing at the courthouse. Unable to wait much longer to be husband and wife, they dialed Mary Margaret and David the very next Saturday, asking them to be their witnesses. Emma’s something old was her jacket, something new the ring. Mary Margaret tied a cerulean ribbon in her hair for the something borrowed and blue. After a moment’s hesitation on her behalf, filling out names a few forms, he plucked the pen from her fingertips and wrote himself in as Killian Swan.

  


“I always liked your surname better,” he whispered in her ear. The baby kicked its little feet a few times.

  


The day after their wedding, they went in for the second ultrasound and discovered they were having a little girl. And between her new surroundings, new therapist and medication, the baby, and Killian, her life looked up. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows— real life never was— but things were, for the most part, good. The only exception was the occasional nightmare, on his part or hers. 

  


She sprung awake one night in a cold sweat, reeling from an image of him dying with a pair of scissors lodged in his throat. Heart pounding, she fumbled for Killian’s hand in the darkness and found nothing. She smacked her hand against the mattress, blindly searching for him, but he wasn’t there. She took in deep, heaving breaths and pressed her knees up to her chest. Her arms came around them, holding her together, because while she rationally knew that he was probably fine, the nightmare coupled with his absence struck panic into her. Through the blood rushing in her ears, she heard the vague sound of the toilet flushing and the sink being turned on and off. 

  


“Killian?” she called out, almost meekly, eyes clenched shut. The doorknob from the bathroom twisted and he reemerged. 

  


“Emma?” He crawled in bed beside her and took her in his arms. “Bloody hell, love. You’re shaking. What happened?” She tilted her head up to face him, eyes shining with tears, and saw the concern in his eyes (even in the darkness). Overwhelmed, she collapsed into tears again and he pulled her closer. “Shh, shh. Everything’s okay. You’re fine, I’m fine, the baby’s fine. I’ve got you, Swan.” He held her into the early hours of the morning, until her tears subsided. 

  


“Do you want to tell me what that was about, love?” He asked once she’d scrubbed her face of all the salt and water. 

  


“It was a nightmare, and then I woke up and you weren’t there and panicked.”

  


“Mmm.” He cupped her chin and smoothed his thumb across her reddened cheek. “I see.”

  


“It was the same nightmare I used to have. After the whole… hallucinations thing. It’s you, dying, with those scissors I threw sticking out of your neck.”

  


“Lass, please tell me you haven’t been beating yourself up for that all this time,” he said, not as gravely as one might have expected, but still not amusedly.

  


“Shouldn’t I? I nearly killed you, over something I _knew_ wasn’t there!”

  


“Aye, love. But you weren’t yourself at that point. You thought you were defending yourself.”

  


“Against golden lizards the size of my boss.”

  


“I know that looking back, it seems ridiculous, but at the time you were terrified. Emma, I haven’t seen fear in anybody’s eyes as true as I saw in yours that evening.”

  


“But… it was an imaginary threat. I could’ve killed you!”

  


“Swan, that was forgiven the moment you looked to me that evening.”

  


“But I’m still blaming myself.”

  


“I know, love. You don’t need to be, though. And I know that you know that.”

  


“Yeah.”

  


“Everything is fine. I promise you.”

  


“Really?”

  


“Most certainly. Let’s not linger, aye?”

  


“Okay.”

  


“Good.” He kissed her brow. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

  


“I think that might be nice.”

  


“Alright, then. Goodnight, my love.”

  


“Goodnight.”

  


“And goodnight,” he murmured to her belly, “my little love,” before planting a kiss there. His hand lay across her middle as they re-adjusted. As she fell back asleep, a small smile painted her face.

  


Two nights later, she woke to him shuddering against her. Before she had processed why, he cried out. He was having a nightmare. With a touch of fear, she shook his shoulder and took hold of his face until his eyes snapped open. 

  


“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she soothed. He breathed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut against some tears which dribbled down regardless. “Just a dream.”

  


“No, no, it was a flashback. The accident.”

  


“Oh.”

  


“One minute, everything was fine, and then… the car was hurtling towards us, and Liam didn’t even see it coming. A-and… then he was gone, the car was all crushed up and his head was at such an unnatural angle, and everything just _hurt_.”

  


He didn’t talk about the accident often. A few years before they’d met, he’d been in the car with his older brother when they were hit by a drunk driver. His brother’s neck had snapped on impact and he died instantly. Killian was more (less?) fortunate. The entire left side of his body was mangled- the doctors managed to put him back together, save for a sharp line across his cheek and a web of jagged ones across the back of his hand. To this day, he insisted it was sheer magic. Occasionally his hand still gave him pains, and occasionally a nightmare of the incident ripped him from his slumber. In the days after, he always seemed a bit shaken. 

  


The few times he’d discussed it with her, he talked about how guilty he felt when he lapsed into alcoholism. Alcohol is what killed his brother, he said. That he should drown himself in it was the worst dishonor he could give to the man, which made it all so much worse when he downed another beer to erase the sentiment. The first year they had been together, she had gone to his apartment one night— a night that turned out to be the anniversary of the crash. He’d been curled around himself on the floor, empty bottles strewn around him and a few tipped over, spilling brown into the carpet, staining it. She gasped and knelt beside him, wiped the tears from his face and asked him what had happened. He’d blubbered and slurred through his explanation. It was difficult to understand, but she picked up the gist of it. 

  


Instinct took over and she pulled him to a standing position, guided him to the bathroom and cleaned him up. Once he’d been sent off to bed and she’d tucked the covers tight around him, she cleaned up the kitchen and the path of empty cans leading to the living room. The next day, while she saw him through his hangover, she realized that she was in love with him. In that moment of weakness, he’d showed her how real a person he was, how flawed he was beneath the bravado. Once she’d glimpsed the cracks and authenticity he hid, she realized that he wasn’t going to hurt her. A person that damaged wouldn’t do that to someone like himself. That day was the day when she stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop, the day where she realized how important he was to her, and how he truly cared for her and her issues— wasn’t just using her because broken, breaking people were “easy”(freaking Neal).

  


Now, he was her husband and the father of her unborn child. She tried to remove the pain from his eyes with her stare, thumbed over his cheek and murmured sweet nothings until his breathing settled and his heart beat less erratically under her other hand. When he shuddered and took a deep breath, she held him to her and he clutched her tightly. They fell asleep that way, with his nose buried in her hair and her head resting over his, ears smushed together. 

  


The following morning, she made a suggestion as they prepared breakfast.

  


“Hey… I was thinking. How would you feel about talking to Archie?”

  


“The cricket man?” (Since the ginger had jumped about a foot in the air after being tapped on the shoulder in greeting at Granny’s, Killian had jokingly called him “the cricket man” and “grasshopper.” The last name didn’t help.)

  


“Yeah, him.”

  


“How come?”

  


“I don’t know. After last night, I’m worried about you.”

  


“I’m fine, love.”

  


“I know,” she said (less-than-convincingly), ducking into a cabinet to pull out a pan. 

  


“Hey.” She turned back towards him. “If it would set your mind at ease, I’ll schedule an appointment.”

  


“It would. Thank you.” He smiled and she returned it. “Help me up? I’m stuck.” The ever-growing baby bump was not making day-to-day life easy on her. She grabbed his hand and he hauled her to her feet, kissing her hand before letting it drop back down to her side. He scheduled an appointment with Archie for the next day, and one appointment turned into two, and two appointments turned into bi-weekly therapy sessions. As weeks passed, she watched him grow happier, more vibrant, and even more confident in himself than before. 

  


One night, when she was at 36 weeks and feeling bloated, tired, and uncomfortable, she complained that she was done being pregnant. In response, he had her lie back against he edge of the couch and scooped up her feet. His thumbs pressed and kneaded, his fingers ran circles and released knots she hadn’t even known were there.

  


“Can’t be quite done, yet, love. We haven’t picked a name.”

  


“Which ones did we like, then?”

  


“I liked Maia and Calliope, you liked Avalon.”

  


“Isabella, too.”

  


“That’s nice.”

  


“Maia’s pretty, too. I like that one.”

  


“First or middle name?”

  


“First. What about Avalon for the middle?”

  


“Maia Avalon Swan. I must say, it does have a nice ring to it.”

  


“I agree.” A small groan escaped her lips when he pressed in just the right spot; a giggle slipped out when his thumb slid a bit to the side and grazed against a ticklish spot.

  


“Is the incredible Emma Swan ticklish?”

  


“No…” she drawled teasingly, immediately proven wrong by the laugh that gurgled up when he swept his finger across a particularly sensitive area. She jerked a bit when he lightly scratched a fingernail against the same spot, but his other hand held her ankle, so her foot remained trapped. “Ah. Killian…”

  


“Not ticklish, you say?” He devoted his attention to the other foot. 

  


“They’re all bloated.”

  


“Just means there’s more to love. And…” here he gave her a devilish grin. “More to do this to.” His calloused fingers danced and tapped up and down the length of her insole, causing her to squirm and shriek out, laughing through it. He crawled up beside her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I happen to love all of you very much.”

  


“I love you, too.”

  


A few weeks after, she got her wish. Her pregnancy concluded on September 14th, after 22 hours of labor and a rather unimpressive water break. (She’d been in the shower when it happened, easing away the pain of some of the light, early contractions before the real work began). He’d frantically ushered her into the car after she called out to him in the bedroom. 

  


“Killian, it’s fine. I probably don’t even need to go to the hospital, yet. This is going to take a while.”

  


“I know, I know. I’d just rather be safe then sorry.” With a loving sigh that ended with a grimace at a contraction, she folded his hand in hers over the center console.

  


“Today’s the day. Maia’s gonna be here soon.”

  


“Aye?”

  


“Mhmm.”

  


They arrived at the hospital a few minutes after and she got checked in. It was several hours before little Maia finally arrived, but when she did, God were they smitten. They hadn’t known how much they could love their little one until they held her, heard her coos and touched her little fingers, but once she touched them, she claimed both of their souls forever. She was born with her eyes and hair, his jaw and pointy ears. 

  


She called their daughter Angel, he called her Moppet. As she grew, her curls became more pronounced and began to hang in two little pigtails on either side of her head. When Maia was a year and a half old, they got a little blond puppy. When she was two, Emma watched her, Killian, and Buster run around the yard while she pressed a hand to her abdomen. Killian didn’t know it yet, but they were expecting again (a son this time, she could feel it). 

  


Life wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t for them, it wasn’t for everybody. Sometimes, her meds weren’t as effective as they were the day before. Sometimes David invited him out for a drink and he awkwardly ordered a soda, saying he drove to the bar. Time hadn’t erased the scars from his past or hers, but it healed their wounds. With Maia, and this little one on the way, they found hope and sunlight in each tomorrow. Together, they faced the impossible, and they and won.

**Author's Note:**

> So... that was that.
> 
> I feel like Emma may have been a little ooc at times, but I really felt like there was an absence of fics where she's vulnerable and not at her strongest. It's a really important side to her and I wanted to show that, while also getting more information out there about different types of problems. I did my best to make her development spiral realistically, but am a little unsure. If you've got knowledge or opinions about any of this, please do leave a comment.
> 
> I tried to write both Emma's and Killian's reactions accurately, but if you know somebody with a mental health problem, please don't assume that this is how they feel and/or this is necessarily the right way to go about helping them.
> 
>  
> 
> If you're dealing with depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, domestic abuse, etc., please don't hesitate to talk to someone.
> 
>  
> 
> 24/7 Hotlines (USA):
> 
>  
> 
> Depression- 1-630-482-9696  
> Domestic Abuse- 800-799-7233, 800-621-4673  
> LGBTQIA+- 866-488-7386  
> Alcohol/Substance Abuse- 800-662-4357  
> Rape/Sexual Abuse- 800-656-4673, 212-227-3000  
> Suicide- 800-784-2433  
> Runaways- 1-800-786-2929
> 
> General- 800-442-4673, 800-273-8255
> 
> Please, if you have a problem, get help. (There are also several online chat helplines which are also anonymous, if you'd prefer not to talk over the phone. Just run a quick search and you'll probably find several).


End file.
